#or like I should have just been content with the relative safety of my assigned social role | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cinnamonest · 3 years

Text

Yandere Profile - Link (Legend of Zelda)

ABSOLUTELY YES. MY BOY. LOVE OF MY LIFE.

As some of you may know, today is the release date of Skyward Sword HD for Switch!! So I decided to release this one now in honor of that :3

NOTES:

I went towards the idea of a Princess!reader because that just opens the gate for sooooo much potential. I'm leaning heavily towards the ZeLink interactions in BoTW and Skyward Sword just because those games have the most interaction between the two.

Also! This is great bc it gives me the opportunity to explore an idea I've actually had a long time! I've always thought about how many opportunities there have been across the games for Link and Zelda to be kinda like "haha well seeya later" and just... bolt, run away from everything, abandon their roles and responsibilities and all that. Like, if OoT kid Link got her before Ganon did and ran, if SS Link just decided to get her on the bird and bolt before everything went down, if botw Link was just like haha what if we ran away from everything together... jk... unless...?

And final note, Link is a great pick for the very traditional yandere -- sweet and : ) but can snap into darker personas. I really liked writing this bc I tend to have more self centered yans and less of the "worships the ground you walk on" type of yans like I think Link would be, so it's a nice change.

As usual now the nsfw section is divided by a ---- line.

TWs: fem reader, heavily implied Zelda!reader, stalking, murder, very brief mentions of gore/dismemberment of rivals, manipulation, very brief suicide mention, themes of reincarnation (I’ve been told this can be triggering to some people so just in case)

TWs (nsfw section): noncon, somnophilia

--------------------------------

Severity Scale

Intelligence/Perceptiveness: 4 Brutality: 8.5 Physical capability: 8 Mental/emotional instability: 7 Restrictiveness: 6 Sexual sadism: 5 Stubbornness: 8

What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

The primary trait of Link that any darling -- any person, really -- would notice is that he is, well, quiet. He has always been a man of few words, and really, he often doesn't know exactly what to say. On his own, at a first glance, he really does seem like a gentle, humble spirit, someone who blends into the background pretty well, who isn't particularly prideful or reckless or aggressive.

Which is why, to be honest, he might sort of evade the gaze of most people -- he doesn't stand out. You remember him as the boy that smiled at you now and then, it's a soft, gentle sort of smile, one that you feel conveys nothing but the utmost innocence and contentment with the world. You know he's pretty good at fighting, but doesn't get into fights needlessly, he's accomplished and respected, but has never been the guy everyone is talking about -- he's in the background, against the wall. Never speaking, always looking out, sometimes at the sky, sometimes carefully watching people. Sometimes you see him, gaze blank and tranquil, and wonder what he's thinking about. Whether he's the village boy in the time of Twilight, the trained and honored warrior that slept for many years, the boy that came down from the sky -- you can't help but feel at ease around him, safe, you can't help but find him endearing and pleasant.

Yet, you always seem to notice him. Other people... forget he exists, sometimes, he's so quiet. You never do, for whatever reason.

When he needs to get something across, he prefers to express himself through actions, not words. If you lived in Skyloft, or Ordon village, you might find problems mysteriously solved, work suddenly done that you don't remember doing. That fencepost outside your home that broke has been replaced overnight. A village child went missing and he comes back a few hours later with them in tow. Always humble, never demanding or expecting thanks, he tells you in his quiet voice that he's happy to help you.

And should you ever ask him for anything, he'll drop whatever he's doing to help. Anything for you, he says with a smile, which makes you feel a bit guilty when, honestly, you're not even sure you're remembering his name right.

And yet, sometimes, you feel so at ease around him it seems unnatural. He seems so easy to trust. You feel like you've known him forever. And sometimes you feel... for just a split second, less at ease. You find yourself randomly stiffening at his calm, sweet voice. You find yourself looking around when you're alone, as if you feel someone is there, and for some reason, his face flashes through your mind. Sometimes when he looks at you, you feel sort of cold. It's almost like invoking a memory you don't have, like some kind of learned instinct you can't recall a reason for. But those moments are fleeting, they come and go before you can even process them, replaced by warmth and comfort.

If you do spend time with him, if you find yourself gazing out your window when he's training, the next thing you notice besides him being quiet and sweet is that he's strong. It's almost ironic, how all the other knights or village boys are so aggressive and rowdy all the time, many of them taller or bulkier, and yet, none of them could ever dream of defeating Link. Not one can match his agility, speed, prowess. Such a pleasant, calm person, with so much skill, strength, and power, but that power is so rarely seen exerted. People marvel at his talent, they say it's as if he has the experience of lifetimes and lifetimes of battle in his blood.

And it's why you feel at ease when he's assigned the task of guarding you. His capabilities are unmatched, and yet you'd never fear any harm to you from him. Both of those traits put together make him the best candidate to protect you.

Of course, you do find yourself doing most of the talking. Sometimes you find yourself rambling to fill the silence, and you fear you're annoying him, but when you stop he raises an eyebrow and asks why you got so quiet. Did he do something wrong? He seems to worry about that a lot -- has he done something bad? Has he made you upset? Are you mad? At first you think he's worried about his position security, but after a while you realize he genuinely worries about it.

And when you do continue your ramblings, you're surprised to find he remembers your words -- every little thing you say. Things you don't even remember telling him. He asks you about that relative you mentioned one time, his eyes light up and he walks a bit to the side because look, it's your favorite flower over there, he'll get it for you. It's impressive, really, how he manages to remember such things. He must take his job very seriously.

He does enjoy giving you such things -- he loves giving you gifts. It's usually things he finds, wholesome little things -- makes a crown out of the flowers you like so much, finds something interesting here or there, while he was off-duty he saw something in the markets he thought you'd like and got it for you. You almost feel guilty, it's so constant that he's giving you things.

Sometimes you ask him about himself, you realize he knows so much about you and you so little about him. He blushes, he rubs the back of his head, he insists there's nothing interesting about him, he wouldn't waste your time like that. It takes time to get him out of his shell, but eventually, he tells you this or that, little stories from his life.

Sometimes you take long walks, you like to get out of the stuffy walls and have fun outside, he accompanies you across Hyrule. Sometimes it feels familiar, you pass places you've never been that give you a feeling of nostalgia, deja vu, a sense that you've been here before.

He’s protectiveness incarnated. Insanely so. He can spring to his feet at a moment's notice and deals with anything that comes for you before they can even get close.

It makes you feel safe, but there's something else there. It's a ferocity that is so contrasting to his normal self, different even from the times you've seen him fight as he trains. It's a glint in the eyes, an aggression in his expression, that almost makes him seem like a different person. And it lingers for a moment, once the creature is dead and his sword hand falls to his side, he turns and glances at you to his side, a hand raised to wipe the blood off his face, and for that lingering second, it's still there, his blank expression and wide eyes -- a ferocity so intense it starts to look like bloodlust, chaos, destruction. And then, it's as if you imagined it. Smiling and telling you it's gone now, you're ok. You're glad he's so truly devoted.

In fact, he's so dedicated to his job that he starts... doing it... outside of his job hours...? Well, today he was given the day off, and you were told to stay inside because you didn't have to go out. He comes knocking on your door, says not to be startled if you hear someone outside your door move or shift or anything, but he just wanted to let you know in case. He'll be right here. Keeping watch. So don't worry. You're safe.

And likewise, he was supposed to have a day off when you were supposed to enter the town. You were assigned two other guards to watch you, since it's a special trip, so you're surprised to find just Link waiting for you. He took care of it, he says, he didn't feel right leaving your safety up to someone else, he doesn't trust them. So they agreed to let him take over for today.

All of this said, he doesn't have to grow alongside you, he doesn't have to be the childhood friend, the knight who guards you. He doesn't even have to have met you. Fate works in odd ways like that. There's a sort of inexplicable instant attachment he takes to you, almost as though it's some kind of destined, divinely inspired sort of thing. He would describe it as saying you feel familiar to him.

He's also, notably, prone to a more traditional trope of what you might call humility whiplash. For the most part, he's got that overly humble, worshipping, "I don't deserve to even stand in your presence" sort of mentality. However, although it's rare and requires a lot of wearing down his mental state, if pushed far enough, he can have brief moments where he snaps into more or less the complete opposite -- entitlement, arrogance, aggression, getting mad at you for the behavior he'd normally take with a smile on his face. Thankfully, unlike some yanderes that have a whole snapping episode towards their darling, his are very very brief, usually only a matter of seconds or a single snarled sentence before he snaps back to normal, wide-eyed and apologetic and telling you I don't know what came over me. It’s... a little frightening to say the least, but you blow it off, tell yourself that hey, everyone has moments like that... Right?

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

For the most part, he doesn't need it, he can pretty easily cling to your side well enough to be assured of your safety, and he manages to scare off the undesirables not with a glare, but a smile that's just a little too sweet and far too persistent -- it unnerves people. You hear a lot of people say that something about that guy rubs me the wrong way. Or that he gives me goosebumps for some reason. Even the people he scares away themselves can't pinpoint exactly what it is, all they know is that, despite being reputed as kind and quiet (and maybe a little dense), somehow a lot of people agree that something about him puts people at unease, and that's all he needs. Because they stay away from him, and if he’s by your side all the time, that means they stay away from you too. Why keep you trapped when you can just be isolated?

An aware Link is a a unique scenario. One scenario that's rather... interesting to imagine is a Link that defies fate itself, a Link that decides to be selfish in one of those rare snapping moments of his. Perhaps he makes a decision when everything starts going down, when the chaos is beginning, or perhaps he has somehow managed to gain knowledge of the bigger picture at work, the reality of the nature of your existence and his.

Perhaps he begins to think it's unfair. To suffer again and again. To prove himself again and again, and not always even to reap any benefits, to work so hard and yet still -- still -- you slip out of his grasp. He longs for a life with no tribulations, no struggle, no fights to be fought. He begins to feel like it's what he wants the most. He begins to feel like maybe it's what he deserves. So many lifetimes of struggles, if the higher powers won't give him a reward, he'll take it himself.

And perhaps, for all their higher power, not even the great goddesses themselves would have ever predicted it -- humans are ultimately creatures of will. To defy fate and to run away from destiny -- it wouldn't be the first time a human has tried such a thing. Sure, Hyrule may be destroyed. The people may all die. There may be nothing left. But you know what? He's stopped caring. If you're alive and he's alive, tucked away in your little corner of the world where you've found respite, well, that's all he needs. Even if you're on the run from forces that would want to find you, even if the threat of the final third of the triforce owner looms over your head. He'll ignore it, he'll look away.

You'll live a quiet little life together, a happy life without suffering, without quests and enemies, without strife, without worry. That's what he tells you when he steals you away, lifts you out of your bed one night. Says to be quiet, there's danger outside your door, he's rescuing you. You have no reason to not believe him. He waits until things go down, a castle under siege, but rather than taking you to where you're supposed to go, he climbs onto the horse and starts... riding away. It gets further and further into the distance, and you might ask why, what's going on? You have a job to do, he has a battle to be fought. But he says you're going far, far away, someplace you'll be safe.

But what about the divine beasts, the seals, the Twilight, whatever threat runs in this world in this time, what about the threat of Ganon, you ask? He says it doesn't matter anymore. You were doomed to fail, he thinks, it's either stay here and die, or run away. All that matters is you. And he'd like you to feel the same way for him. You will with enough time, don't worry.

He just wants this happy, quiet life with you that he’s been denied time and time again. It’s all he wants. If fate won’t give it to him, he’ll make it happen himself, and carve out the life he is determined to have, defying even the will of higher power.

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape?

He gets it. Really, he does. "Stop following me!" You yell. Well, he understands why you might feel that way, but this is kinda his job. He thinks you're naive. Not that he would ever, ever have a thought that you're imperfect, of course! It's because you're so perfect and pure that you're... less aware of the dangers all around.

He'll let you think you're free, perhaps. He's more than capable of being quiet, quiet is kind of his thing. Watching you from a short distance is easy. Of course, his horse might make a noise, he can't really help that, or he might misstep on a branch or something. And then you turn around and get all mad again. Now you're even more angry. Well, he can also tell your guardians/father, who will encourage you to accept it. You can't help but feel a little bad -- he's just doing his job.

Now, our aware, runaway Link, well, does he really need to keep you restrained? What would you go back to? Certain death, a land destroyed? Sometimes you mention home, and he's quick to remind you that home doesn't exist anymore. His home is where you are. Can't you feel the same way? You found peace here in this little place -- a village far far away. Travelers, you call yourselves. What's the point in going elsewhere? How would you ever survive without him? He's not very good at being subtle or skillful about the psychological manipulation, it's obvious he's trying to scare you into not leaving, but... it still works, because really, he has a point.

He doesn't want to have to use physical restraint, in any case. And for the most part, it's not needed, because one important aspect of your relation is that his job kinda revolves around you (in some incarnations), or, perhaps you live in the same little village, but either way the thing is that his presence does the job well enough -- he's always there, perhaps more so than almost any other yandere. Even when you think you've managed to get away from him for a moment, somehow his face pops up out of nowhere. How he manages to pull it off is a mystery, you swear he manages to find you so well and predict your movements it's inhuman.

But if you really, really pose a problem, a smarter and sneakier darling that somehow manages to keep slipping out of his grasp and running off (you never get away for more than about 20 minutes or so, but nonetheless), you keep trying to run off when he's sleeping (he wakes up in approximately 25 seconds if your presence is absent from the bed, but that's still enough time to run out the front door), every time he turns his head (which isn't often) you're trying to disappear... well, in that case, he can reach a point of deciding more straightforward measures are necessary. He hates to do it, really, at least when he's not yet at a snapping point. But it's for your own good. And he says so, quite apologetically.

But it's not so bad, it's not like you're being chained to a wall or anything. For one, he got leather ties so you'd be more comfortable, but more importantly, as your guardian, he figured the best thing for you to be tied to would be... himself. Think of it like friendship bracelets! It's just... got a 5-foot chain connecting them. This way you can't sneak off at night, and you won't get too far when he's distracted. It's a safety measure.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

He's a learner. At first, it's easy. Honestly, he is a rather naive, gullible boy, sometimes he reminds you of a happy dog with his bright eyes. He likes to believe the best of people, give them the benefit of the doubt in all circumstances, and that goes double for you, who he believes can do no wrong.

And even when you do lie to him, it's still not wrong. You didn't do anything bad. Clearly there has simply been a misunderstanding, and you thought you had to lie. Or perhaps you simply forgot a detail or were confusing something with something else. It wasn't malicious on your end, he knows that.

He's actually significantly smarter than he lets on in practical knowledge, though. Those dungeon puzzles pay off, you know? He's got pattern recognition down. So over time he learns how to distinguish when you're lying to him or attempting to deceive him, and sees through it increasingly well.

And yet, he doesn't really... get mad over it, most of the time. Again, he's just capable of deluding himself into believing there's a reason. He believes so strongly in your goodness that he finds a way to interpret everything you do as out of benevolence. So you snuck out the window and didn't tell him you were going for a walk because you just wanted to get away from his suffocating presence for once? You were just thinking of him. You didn't want to burden him and wanted to give him a break. Well, that's thoughtful, but don't worry, he doesn't need a break. He thinks it's precious you're so considerate of him though!

You don't tell him you were talking to that person, and you lie and say no when he asks, because you don't want him to worry, and because you underestimate how dangerous others can be. He's told you a million times and you don't listen, but that's ok, it's because you're just so pure you see the best in everyone. Everything you do is good.

Because he perceives your lies, he will still work against and around it. He won't confront you on your lies, he'll just make sure to deal with the situation -- you lied about sneaking out, well, he'll just keep watch and be ready to meet you outside next time. You lied about talking to a person, well, he'll just have to make sure they stay away from you instead.

If you're trying to trick him, he just plays along until necessary. Smiles and nods. He gets the suspicion you're planning a break-out when he told you he was leaving to go get something from town... rather than saying so, he just decides, you know what? Why don't you come with him? Oh, you're feeling sick, you tell him it's ok, go without you? Well, he can't leave you alone then! Because you're clearly not and just trying to get him to leave... or, as he says, he can't just leave you alone. He'll go another day.

He's fairly manipulable when it comes to praise and affection. You can easily Pavlov him into certain behaviors or patterns with just the slightest words of praise and affection. He's not a very outwardly expressive person, tends to stay quiet, but you can tell how he feels inside when you give the slightest praise, a hug, a kiss on the cheek -- you can see that soft hint of a smile and tell that inside, he's basically melting, even if it's not obvious to most people. And, much like the lying, he’s honestly often aware of it, but he just can’t help it.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

He tries to get you the things that he feels will make you happy. Your happiness is incredibly important to him, and he usually thinks about how any action he plans to take might affect you, spends a lot of time debating choices of things to do or say and try to determine how each one will affect you and choose accordingly.

As such, he goes out of his way to support the things you want to do. Have a hobby? He'll find the best materials available. Want a book or a food? He'll obtain it through some means. Even if procuring it involves a side-quest-y set of mundane tasks or scouring the world for 70 of this and 50 of that to exchange it for the item from an obscure specialist, it's all worth it.

The only thing he just doesn't give up on is the constant vigilance and insistence on being by your side more or less every waking second. And every sleeping second. And just every single moment you're alive. It's for your safety.

This is actually one of the things he can get a little nasty about when it comes to how he deals with it, because he quickly has the bright idea that if you don't get it, he'll make you understand. Of course, he can't actually risk you getting hurt, so he stages it. Allows you to sneak off, or at least think you have, and walk right into the path of those monsters he lured, or the people he hired to intimidate you. Of course, it's only natural that he shows up at the last possible second, right on time to save you. You should expect that, after all, it's his responsibility to protect you, of course fate works out perfectly like this. See, he was right, it's so dangerous, and without him you'd be dead. Hopefully you grasp that now.

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

His is mostly related to vigilance. Where are you? Who have you been talking to? Who was that person you were talking with just now? What did they say? He's not nosy. He just cares about you. It’s in the job description. You ought to understand just how much certain bad people would love to find you and hurt you. That's why he has to know.

This isn't our modern world, so there's no phones or tracking devices to speak of, just himself, which, well, might as well be a tracking device since he never seems to have difficulty finding you. Sometimes you're not sure how he does it.

He tells you that you don't have to be with him 24/7, but you will be, even if you don't realize it. He's aware enough to know that you'll feel suffocated and get mad if you're aware of his presence all the time, so he gives you your "alone" time, aka, the "follow her quietly from a 20+ foot distance" time. It all feels the same to you. Well, sometimes you feel eyes on you, but you shake the feeling off as paranoia.

So it's not so much that he sets rules and reacts when they're broken, but rather, he works his way around anything you might do so well that he doesn't need you to follow his rules, or really, you take them more as suggestions. But honestly, that's kind of worse. It's enough to drive a darling to the brink of a mental breakdown very quickly. With Link you will inevitably become paranoid, nervous, you feel like you're going insane because he manages to pop up everywhere, he always knows what you did when you did it and you have no idea how it is even conceivably possible for him to know some of the things that he knows. He confronts you very plainly and quietly, often sweetly, asking why you did this or that or telling you it's ok, you don't have to hide anything, surely there’s a good reason, and if not, he forgives you anyway. In a way, it's worse than an angry confrontation. You begin to feel like he's omnipresent, like he can read your mind, and it truly takes a mental toll and affect you worse than any normal yandere's concept of punishment.

This ultimately works out well in his favor. The more you just do what he wants, the less it feels like a violation or intrusion that he knows these things, since he was there with you, it makes sense, and you continuously get bent to his will.

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

Ah, and thus we get to that brutality rating.

It would be unthinkable to think that any sort of scum would even dare. Even he isn't worthy of being with you, and someone else thinks they could be? So, he more or less views "rivals" as an offense. When they're threats, well, he's allowed to deal with them. When they're not, well... he has a wonderful reputation. If he says he overheard that person planning usurpation or assassination, that they realized he was listening in and wildly attacked him, everyone will believe him. Even if the death seems a little... non-immediate. And uh... frankly... overkill. How exactly... did those limbs get perfectly severed during equally armed combat? And was it... really necessary... to kinda spill entrails all over like that? He'll apologize, of course, he was just so outraged by the thought of someone hurting you or your family, you know? You notice his eye twitches a bit as he says it.

He has a lot of... bottled up frustrations, which we'll touch on in the nsfw section as well, but it tends to manifest in those two ways: sex and violence. Rather than exerting stress and anger and frustration as it comes, he lets it fester. He tries to maintain being the noble, humble, self-sacrificing person he feels he should be. That is... difficult to do for a long time. People expect a lot from him, even in timelines where he's not necessarily realized as the hero quite yet, he usually has a lot of responsibilities. But then you tack on the whole hero thing? The weight of the world is sometimes, quite literally, on his shoulders. Do you have any idea the kind of stress that comes with that knowledge? It's not pleasant. And it quickly bottles up, a very very fragile bottle set to eventually shatter in a matter of time.

On a longer sort of quest, he just kinda... leaves a trail of destruction in his wake. Enemies don't actually just poof out of existence the way they do on-screen, you know. Anyone coming across an area he's just been through is met with literal piles upon piles of corpses, sometimes monsters, but sometimes people. He takes a very scorched earth sort of policy when it comes to dealing with things.

He's able to easily get close to people, with that sweet face and puppy eyes and lithe body, people don't really feel on guard around him nor intimidated. That makes it significantly easier to infiltrate enemy hideouts, earn favors, and work his way in to be able to commit mass murder more easily. Granted, no one thinks too much of it because they *are* truly enemies, after all, they *did* need to be taken out and well, if the rulers can choose to either send a group of ten soldiers or just one guy and get the job done equally well either way, they'll go with the latter option. No one thinks anything of it, except the occasional person who laughs and says something to the effect of remind me to never get on your bad side, haha! He gives that sheepish, sweet little smile, and jokingly tells them that yeah, better not.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

For you, nearly impossible. For others, at a hair trigger.

For the most part, he conceals anger well until, as aforementioned, it bottles up and bursts. The truth is he gets irritated virtually all the time by other people. People who talk to you. Look at you. Smile at you. He’s actually rather easily annoyed even when you’re not involved, but again, he’s good at hiding it until it builds.

His rage has a commonality with his calm -- it's quiet. At least, at first. When it's directed at others, his eyes narrow. It's the telltale sign that someone has ignited his rage. It burns on the inside, it starts off as a spark that builds and builds and grows larger and larger until it's a blazing fire that consumes everything in his path. It's a loss of composure, a rare moment of complete loss of self-control. From his own perspective, it feels like he's not in control of his own body, it's all a blur happening in front of him and when it's over he's looking down at his own hands, unable to process his own actions, sometimes unable to remember them.

But it's violent, merciless, unforgiving. It does not yield to begging, it does not leave anything alive unless forced to. You remember the first time you realized how unnatural it was, how shocked you were at how he did something that certainly went against the code he was sworn to follow, the very first time you felt truly afraid of Link. It was a walk in town -- someone called out to you, spitting obscenities about you and your family, your lineage, threw something at you -- he caught it in his hand and crushed it, and quickly, without a word, advanced on the offender. And, to make a long story short, you had to prevent him from beating a man to death in public in broad daylight. He was forgiven by his superiors, but even they seemed shocked. You had to pull him off, and when he jerked his head around to look at whatever was stopping him -- before his face softened as he recognized your own face -- the split second you saw the burn of hatred and fury in eyes that were normally so soft and loving, was nothing short of unsettling, you still recall the chill that ran down your spine.

And honestly? It's terrifying. And the first time, it's shocking. Sure, you knew he could fight. You've seen him fight off monsters, bokoblins and lizalfos and the like. But something is different about seeing the blood of a human being run down his sword, dripping onto the ground, to see the bodies and the blank, numb gaze on his features he always has after it's over. The absolute lack of hesitancy he has to run human enemies through before they even have a chance to explain themselves, how unbothered he seems by the carnage left in his wake. The way he turns back to you, drenched in red and smiles, tells you it's ok, you're safe now. There's no need to look so scared.

And it changes how you view him, in the long run. Less of a guardian angel, more of a guardian dog, one that defends your name when you never asked him to. Pleads to tell him not to fall on deaf ears -- you just don't understand why it has to be this way, he says, you can't comprehend the threat they posed. From the sweet boy that leaves you flowers and repairs and instead leaves a wave of destruction in his path you would not have thought possible.

Directed towards you, though, it's entirely different. He tries his best to have patience with you, no matter what. He smiles, he tries to make excuses as to why you'd say this or do that, why you'd feel a certain way, and he's rather good at deluding himself to give you the benefit of the doubt.

But when it reaches an end, when he can no longer lie to himself, when you push it to a point that you truly make him mad, it's more of a snap. The times he'll lay hands on you in a truly violent way are rare, and as aforementioned, very brief. It's usually not so much of actually a blow, so much as a grab. He just can't get what he's trying to tell you through your thick head, so he stresses it, trying to make you understand as he grabs you by the upper arms, shaking you with each word, and he only stops when he sees the pain and fear in your eyes, drawing his hands back at lightning speed. He saves you from some danger very narrowly, one of the few times he lost track of you for a moment and had to frantically search before coming across you being attacked. What would I have done if something happened to you? Don't you understand that? He's so lost in the relief it takes him a moment to feel you beating on his arms in the embrace, choking and wheezing that you can't breathe, that his grip is so tight it feels like he'll snap you in half. He draws back again, and he apologizes, but it will certainly happen more than once.

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

Above. Like, so, so, so far above. He feels like he doesn't even deserve to look at you. Of course, neither does anyone else, so he's just, you know, stepping up to bear the burden of wrongdoing to keep people even worse than him away from you.

So it's less that you're just above him so much as you're above everyone. He's actually, perhaps surprisingly, a little bit of a pessimist about the world. The world is full of so many terrible people and so many horrible things happen that he's borne witness to. It's a "world cold and hard, (y/n) soft and warm" sort of thing. You're the one good thing, the thing that makes him happy, the ultimate source of comfort he has, and he has to prevent you from being defiled by the evil of the world, keep you innocent and sweet (even if he's just deluding himself to think you are those things in the first place).

This ties into, again, how he interprets every action you take as good and benevolent -- he has the "you can do no wrong" mentality. Even very blatantly malicious things, he'll interpret in a way that makes you somehow still come out a perfect, innocent angel. If you do harm to others, well, they simply deserved it. You did something technically wrong, but you knew no better, or you were desperate. You can't be held responsible for any of it. And if you're mean to him, well, he probably did something to make you upset.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

Sort of a duality. Yes, he's very persistent. He thinks about it all the time. Every time you yell and try to run and hurl nasty insults at him, it hurts far more than you realize. He doesn't let it show on his face or in his voice, but it really does, and it gets to him sometimes. He's hyper observant of every little thing you do, your body language, your tone, the way you look at him, and the slightest of differences can change his mood internally, although it tends to look the same outwardly.

He makes little mental notes of it -- today she didn't flinch when I touched her shoulder. Today she didn't frown when she saw me coming. Little things like that will make his entire day. Likewise, the inverse kills him inside. He aims to make every day one of the former days, where the littlest signs of acceptance or even kindness and affection give him a sort of high that makes him feel like he's floating.

He tries his best to do things that he thinks will, well, earn love. Every opportunity to do something for you, he takes it. Everything he sees he'd think you'd like, he buys (or steals, or... loots from a dead body) for you. On and on that idea goes. And although he doesn't say too much, when he does speak to you, he usually has something nice to say. He views it in a formulaic way -- ironically, think about it like those collectibles in overworlds. You get enough of this or that thing, and once you have enough, you can go talk to this or that person and donate them all and get a reward, right? He's accustomed to viewing things that way. Love should be the same way. If he just completes enough tasks and gathers enough items, eventually he'll unlock your love.

That being said, even if it doesn't happen, much to your despair, he just... doesn't. Give. Up. He doesn't quit. No matter how many times you tell him, it doesn't make a difference. You can tell him you'll never love him, and it's like it goes in one ear and out the other. He keeps trying. And he never, ever, ever stops trying. What did you expect? The boy's been fighting the same enemy over and over across lifetimes, needless to say his spirit has build up some persistence.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

Bonus: Zelda/Triforce of Wisdom Darling

And don't worry. If it all goes wrong, when he fails, those divergences in time where the hero is vanquished and evil wins out -- it's not the end. Somehow, that's the feeling he gets, holding your little lifeless body up, running hands across your cold skin. Somehow, he feels oddly calm. Like it hurts, but it's ok. Like he'll see you again. Maybe not soon, but one day. This time didn't work out. But the next one will.

And that's the feeling you'll always have. Every time you meet him and you feel like you've met before, the lingering memories when you wake from your dreams -- flying through skies and sailing on oceans, a child, an adult, a boy you've never met, or one you've known all your life, but it's always the same face, the same voice, the one right beside you in the waking world. You sometimes wonder if he has the same feelings, the same dreams, the same sense of something greater than yourselves at work, the sense of being just smaller pieces in a much bigger picture.

The sense of permanency, that each other is all there will ever be -- regardless of how it makes you feel, regardless of how that scares you, sometimes you feel like you can never be free. Sometimes, when you think of running away, those dark moments when you think of even escaping from life itself, it feels futile. It's as if you know it would never hold him away forever. As if death is insignificant. Perhaps in this lifetime, you'll become aware of why that is, or perhaps not.

With other obsessive lovers, just the idea of til death do us part is a terrifying thought. But, for Link, not even death can keep him away from you. Your suffering is already determined by the will of higher power, for the sake of a greater good.

In truth, it’s the goddesses who made him this way intentionally -- it’s designed to ensure your safety, even at the cost of your suffering. Again, for a greater good. Sure, you may live one lifetime to the next desperately locked in the same cycle in which your freedom and will is stripped from you, but in the end, it serves a purpose.

Nor will he change -- perhaps this one this time is a bit more spirited, more calm, more pessimistic, more optimistic... but in the end, at their core, they're the same soul, with the same will deep, deep down. The same drive to find you and protect you. The same love for you, an all-consuming love that destroys everything in its path to you and leaves ruin in its wake.

And if fate should one day keep you apart, should things change, for whatever reason, it’s unable to change him. There's another force even more powerful than fate determined to keep you together. The only thing more unavoidable, inevitable, and unescapable than fate, is Link himself.

------------------------------------

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

In moments of passion, he changes a bit, unlike other more submissive yans who stay consistent in their reverence and desire to please.

You see, after a while, being as lenient and tolerant and flexible and completely devoted as he is... constantly self-sacrificing in so many ways, to you, to Hyrule, to the world... some frustrations build up. It's a big, big bottle of emotion, all tucked away and festering, getting greater and greater and eventually it has to explode somehow.

His reservations and inhibitions fall away. Perhaps a darker, more selfish side comes out. Perhaps that's why he's so rough. He knows he'll regret it later, the bruises from how hard he grips, the marks from the bites, but the hormones and the heat takes over. He'll feel bad for defiling you. He'll apologize. And he'll do it again. And again. And again.

But once the resolve crumbles, it topples. That is, he can't partially maintain it -- if it's partially gone, it falls apart completely. He lets go, so to speak. And when he lets go, you find that underneath that carefully constructed resolve and willpower that holds him back, he can be a very, very rough and possessive lover. In his normal state, he wouldn't dare think of you as a possession, or as something he's even worthy of. He would like so, so much to think that, to feel like he's allowed to -- but he doesn't. He chastises himself for even having such a desire. But in those moments, when his resolve is gone and his brain isn't thinking quite too clearly, he might even have to audacity to say "mine." Even if it's not true, not now, maybe it will be. He would like that so much. His and his alone.

And in a moment of clarity, he might even throw away the inhibition on purpose. The more selfish side, the same Link that drags you away from your destiny -- he's already forsaken his responsibilities, hasn't he? Why care anymore about the structures that no longer exist, your status and his, if there's no kingdom left? He likes that it happened, even. This way, this time, you can throw off those titles, those roles. Without your status, your title, there's nothing stopping him from making you his. And you will be his, and nothing more. It's all you need to be. So he doesn't have to care anymore about any of that, he doesn't have to stop himself from going wild. Biting into every little spare patch of skin, covering your body with marks that make him feel comforted to see.

As far as drive it's a bit of a two-sided duality. Outwardly he's not a very sexual person at all, blushes and stutters and averts his gaze at the slightest mention of suggestive topics, tries his best to be Respectful(tm) by always looking away when you're in a compromising position, or your skirt flies up, etc etc. Given how constant his vigilance is, he has a tendency to accidentally walk in on your changing or bathing, except unlike with many yanderes, it's genuinely an accident. Not that the image doesn't stick in his mind, nor does he wish he hadn't gotten to see, but he does feel guilty, and it was genuinely unintentional. He kinda freezes up, so it takes a moment for him to actually snap out of it and run out.

That being said, he quickly develops something of a masturbation addiction when he's younger, it starts as more of a stress reliever than anything, He's so sweet and always feels bad about talking about his problems and feelings, so that and, well, violence are the only ways he can get it out. Thus he learns to channel stress and nerves into sexuality, and once he has a real living body and not just his hand, that dependency on cumming to relieve it doesn't change.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

Particularly so, yes, cares quite a bit. And it takes a while for him to feel comfortable. Even consensually, the first few times he touches you for several months, he's got trembling hands and stays quieter than ever, constantly freezes up every time you move or make a noise because he thinks he's done something wrong. He has to be coaxed into feeling more comfortable before he gets used to it, but he will build confidence over time.

As addressed before, though, if he's pushed and pushed and pushed long enough, you can get a darker side to come out. This is most likely something that would only occur post-kidnapping in a distant time, once he's far away from any possibility of consequence and destruction has set in to the world around you. He starts to get a little bitter, if you've been mean to him. It all builds up. Don't you get that he's literally saved your life? That he devoted every waking second to you? Isn't he kinda entitled to some thanks? The cycle of time never rewards him. Even the figures he helps over time rarely give him more than a verbal praise and thanks, maybe an item here or there, and then disappear. His role feels thankless. He starts to feel like he deserves something, something tangible, in return.

Surprisingly, though, he actually does not take the route of guilt-tripping or emotional manipulation or gaslighting his way into it like a lot of the sweeter yanderes when he does have that snap. His snaps/breakdowns are rather extreme in terms of how much of a polar opposite they are to his normal state, rather than just a slight bend of his normal personality. Rather than taking the route of most yanderes like himself, he just gets directly physically forceful. Still somewhat sweet, though, reminds you he loves you, he'd die for you, you're his entire world. You'd argue that doesn't really change the actions, but considering how frightening he is in that state, you're not dumb enough to vocalize that.

The guilt consumes him alive afterwards. Like, immediately afterwards. He's still panting and twitching and buried inside when it sets in. That being said, he doesn't get to stuttering and profusely apologizing, like he does over smaller offenses. It's all done and he can't take it back, so he just kinda collapses and says nothing. He's not the best with words, you know. It's an odd mixture of guilt and, honestly, a bit of satisfaction and relief. It feels like letting go of some self-imposed burden, that feeling of finally surrendering to some deep want, even if it comes with a lot of remorse, the relief of finally letting go does have a good feeling as well... and because of that, it’s another one of those barriers that, once broken, can’t be built up again.

What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

In all honesty the boy is, for the most part, a fairly gentle and vanilla lover. He doesn't really need anything special to get off -- he's easily excited and cums very very easily too. Just the prospect of getting to stick his dick in you in any capacity is enough to make him nearly burst at the thought honestly.

In general, as aforementioned, he's very very cautious and gentle to a point, but has a tendency to get actually kinda rough once he gets into it. The thing is, the roughness aspect is actually unintentional. He's one of those boys that is a little bit unaware of his own strength, doesn't process exactly how hard and fast he's going. He just gets lost in the feeling, kinda enters a dazed lusty haze where he's less aware of his actions. Doesn't realize he's literally got an iron grip pressing your head down on his dick or into the bed until you start flailing your hands because you can't breathe. Doesn't realize how hard he was gripping until he sees the bruises on your arms and hips later. That sort of deal -- poor thing is just unaware and doesn't have enough blood in his brain to think straight.

Biting

Surprisingly a really big one for him. (Remnants of a past life cycle with some lupine experiences perhaps?) In all seriousness, he could not explain exactly why if asked, it's one of those "I just like it" sort of things. It feels like yet another way to conjoin the two bodies, pulls you close. The marking aspect is also nice. Granted, he feels guilty afterwards, tries to help it heal. He has that same duality where moments ago he was this intimidating beast of a human being, rough and growly and jerking you like you were weightless, and now he's back to this bright eyed softie stuttering while he apologizes.

The guilt is mixed with a bit of enjoyment, though. It's constantly conflicting -- sure, part of him understands it's embarrassing and will help you cover up, but part of him doesn't want to, he wants people to see. Part of him looks at the marks and tells himself internally to never do that again, and part of him sees them and just wants to give you even more. It's a constant internal conflict, poor thing.

As far as a place, he likes the neck and shoulders best, simply because it's the most visible and it's the most passionate ones to create, when your bodies are tightly locked together. That being said, though, he also has a thing for biting at the insides of your thighs. It's another one of those I just like it sort of things.

Sometimes, when you're asleep, or pretending to be, you can feel him trace the bite marks with his fingers, softly running them over the circular pattern, just enough to barely ghost over your flesh.

Somnophilia

It puts him at ease. This one is particularly prevalent towards the beginning of your relationship, before you really know... how he is. He has this image of you as so pure and he couldn't bear the thought of defiling you with his horrible horrible thoughts. The guilt eats away at him for a while, but eventually he just can't hold back, but how could he ever do anything to you and risk consequence? So... the solution he comes up with is waiting until you sleep.

He tests the waters to see how heavy of a sleeper you are. Calls your name at increasing volume, lightly runs his fingers over your hair, pokes your face, whispers in your ear, runs his hands over your arms. Just to see what makes you rustle, if anything, so he knows the limits. If it turns out you're an incredibly light sleeper, well, unfortunately that means he's limited to just jerking off to your sleeping form, but that's ok. Just seeing your soft face and the cute way you breathe, the slightest way your lips open, that's enough for him.

If it turns out you're a heavier sleeper though, well, he tries to fight the temptation, but ends up going further. Slowly climbs onto your bed, careful to make the weight shift as gently as possible. Slowly pulls the covers back. Runs his hands up and down. It's a lot better when he can actually see your body as he jerks off, honestly. If he's feeling particularly risky, he might press your thighs together, feel how soft your skin is to his cock, how nice the squeezing pressure between them is.

He gets easily lost in a haze, though, so he inevitably ends up accidentally cumming on you and has to frantically find a way to lightly dab it up without waking you. He panics quite a bit, but that doesn't stop him from doing it again the very next night.

Overstimulation/Forced Orgasm

It just means he's doing a good job, really. Sure, you squeal and kick your feet back and forth and tug at his hair, but that's just because it feels good. Orgasms equate to love and feel good, right? Sure there's a little bit of pain when you go overboard, but then it just leads to feeling even better, right?

It's kind of an irrational compulsion rather than a logical goal, though. He just has an impulsive need to feel you quiver and spasm and clench, it basically gives him a chemical high hit and a wave of reassurance, makes him feel good in both the physical sense and the emotional sense. The first one sends him into this compulsive need to feel it over and over and over again, as many times as he can. It's another one of his internal conflict things -- sure, he knows it's hurting, but he just has to get one more. Just one more. But of course, every time turns into "just one more" when he's been saying that for half an hour now.

And, to be honest, it kind of gives him a pride boost to think he can make you cum against your will. How many people struggle to achieve that even when both parties are trying? It makes him feel good in an adequacy sort of way, he feels needed.

Size Kink/Distension

You know, there's a well-known thing among the male-lovers in this world when it comes to size. It's never the arrogant, loud guys, it's never the social butterflies, it's never the tall guys, it's never the beefy muscly guys. No, they're not the ones that end up somehow bestowed with absolute monster cocks. It's always the soft, lean boys who don't talk much. And they're always painfully unaware of it, too.

He's no exception. Not to the size or the complete lack of awareness. He hasn't spent a lot of time around guys his age too much, he's always been the one sent for some special task and ends up out in the wilderness by himself on journeys, or, in some lifetimes, accompanying you most of the time. He doesn't know what the average dick looks like, so he has no idea he's far above average.

This might sound like a plus, and of course in some ways it is, but also he doesn't think about the fact that the average body isn't properly equipped to handle it. You're supposed to just kinda put it in, that's how the sex works, right? Poor thing, especially if it's entirely consensual sex, he's just kinda ???? because why are you in pain? What is he doing wrong? You have to eventually explain it's literally just his body, not something he's doing.

That being said, naturally, he's a humble person, but hearing you say that does kinda... make him feel good inside. A little bit proud. He's not a person who takes a lot of pride in many things, so he likes having this one thing, and quickly notices you can visibly see it through the bulge it makes in your stomach. Especially if it's in a position where your back is pressed to his front, every little movement creates the bulge, so expect to get a lot of that.

He doesn't really bring it up much or talk about it when he's actually fucking you, it's more like, as with many things, something he's quietly aware of and silently enjoys a lot internally, even if it's not voiced.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

Yes and no. It has to do with his overactive protection instinct. What if something happened or went wrong? He couldn't take that. He couldn't lose you.

At the same time, he likes kids, and he's very good with them, very patient. And over time, realizes that a kid would be the perfect tool of manipulation, and besides that, isn't it a beautiful thing, an ultimate manifestation of love?

So how to work around that... Ultimately, what he decides to do is have a kid... Just not by blood. There are plenty of orphans in Hyrule, wandering the streets and the wilderness, picking one up is easy. ...You wouldn't leave this poor child to suffer out there, to fend for themselves, would you? Nor would you leave him to take care of it by himself... Right?

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

Oh, it's not like he thinks of it that way. He would call it... a reminder. You put yourself in danger again? You tried to go back again? You were gone and for ten whole minutes he didn't know where you were? What could the solution to this issue be? The only thing his brain can really come up with is making sure you need him. Making sure you're content and satisfied here with him so you don't go running off.

Thus we return to the forced orgasm thing -- see, you do need him. It feels good, right? You say it hurts, and maybe it does a little, but ultimately you wouldn't be cumming if it wasn't good. No one else can ever do that. No one else knows you like this. No one else was made for you like this. You can't replace him. You need him. And he can keep going as many times as it takes until you see that, too. Even if he gets milked dry, he has a mouth and hands for a reason.

And by "until you see that," I mean until you say it. In his more... emotionally intense moments, he gets a bit insistent. He needs to hear you say it. Admit it to yourself. And to him. That you need him, that you depend on him, that you'll never leave again. And don't think your patience and tolerance can stand a chance of outlasting his -- it will keep going until you say it.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

He's one of those wholesome type of boys who goes with something sweet. He says maybe your hair, your face, your skin, your eyes. It's all so comforting. So familiar. Of course, not to say that he doesn't like your less wholesome mentionable parts, but he wants to be chivalric about such a question, and feels answering that way would be too disrespectful.

In his unspoken thoughts, though, he likes the hips. It's a part of you he can grab onto and hold you close with. He puts his hands there a lot and holds tight, like he feels like at any moment you could slip out of his grasp. And, I mean, it's nice to look at, can't forget that.

#atml #scheduled post #yandere x reader #yandere legend of zelda #yandere link

686 notes · View notes

obeymeluv · 3 years

Text

Demon Baby Headcanons: A Reference for “The Baby Assignment” Project

It made more sense to post my headcanons as a single thing since I’ll be working on “The Baby Assignment” headcanons in between the “Quick! Kiss Me!” miniseries.

These will be hinted at throughout “The Baby Assignment” pieces and I just wanted to put them all together. Keep in mind these are demon baby headcanons. I don’t really have any idea about angel baby headcanons since I’m card locked in chapter 21 :/

I think I got them all. I can’t really think right now.

Warning for one headcanon about human eating (obviously discouraged in the Devildom). I wanted to put in a section about how the Devildom handles bad parents (hint: logic first, then with justice) but I wasn’t vibing with it. Didn’t do it. No worries.

Demon children are usually born small but develop quickly until they stagnate around “teenage” years. Most babies (ironically) weight at least 6 pounds. It’s VERY rare to get a smaller baby and they must be taken care of EXTREMELY well

Their eyes will open within an hour or two of delivery and will be their lifelong color

Because they’re typically raised in the darkness of the Devildom and learn to flourish in the shadows, demon babies really struggle with exposure to light. It hurts their eyes and makes them cry. They should be shielded from light until they’re about a year old or show increased tolerance. Unless they need glasses or have a birth defect, most children appear to tolerate light with no problem between 4-6 years old.

Hybrid children are an exception (and hard to record for the census given how many subspecies of demon there are and all the magical co-mingling), but full-born demon children typically nest and seek out sources of heat to stay warm until they’re able to walk, talk, and do more for themselves. They tend to attach to the warmer parent.

Devildom childcare advocates recommend swaddling the child in parents’ clothes or clothes of relatives because it keeps them warm and orients their brain to who the main family members are. Pyjamas are a suitable exception but parents and close family should make an effort to show the child their scent

Demon children latch, and not just on their milk-producing parent. Within the first month of life the tiniest baby talons come out and allows the child to latch onto the clothes/skin of their caretakers. Full demon children latch and can maintain their grip/fully support themself in moments of stress, aggravation, fear, and in moments of cuddling. It is still recommended to support the child with an arm because they will get tired. Half-demon children should be supplemented with an arm or carrying device until the full extent of their latching ability is determined

Latching is also critical to scent development. It is an instinct of the child to tuck itself into or around those that will protect them. Unless absolutely sure of their safety, they tend to latch onto the stronger parent. When they feel safe, they usually latch to the other parent or try to make a nest with both

For babies who latch or show interest in latching, being semi-naked or completely naked is recommended. Their parents’ scent is stronger and seems to be preferred this way.

Devildom children don’t really crawl. The best way it can be described is “skitter”. You’ll hear their little claws go. Most parent describe their children moving in a lupine manner, on all fours. they like to stay low to the ground and move faster than human children.

There have been reports of children climbing up cabinets, walls, and onto structures like chandeliers and fans. This is part of their hunting instinct and preps their claws for the different things they will encounter/handle as an adult.

Most demon children develop their “Devildom” vocal chords first and will define parents/family by individual growls/shrieks. If other languages are not encouraged in the household, it is not unusual for a child to stay in this stage until two or three. They typically gain muscle control/development to speak real words by they end of their first year

Devildom babies aren’t as tactile as human babies but will definitely show preferences. It’s a lot easier to figure out what a Devildom baby hates. They’ll be quick to show you.

Devildom babies purr to show contentment and can start purring within 1-2 months of birth. This is one of the first signs of affection.

Other signs of affection include petting the parent or trying to get them in a state of skin-to-skin contact (see latching, above), snuggling, headbutting, showing nesting behaviors, and gently teething on them.

Full-blooded demon children can expect to cut fangs starting at the end of the first year. They will get their first full set of fangs near age two. For children who can only inherit one set of teeth, these fangs will be with them for life. They will naturally harden and lengthen to a full adult set as the body grows.

Mixed demon children are special cases where fangs are concerned because some species have extra sets of fangs, defense mechanisms where they lose and regrow teeth, and other things of that nature. For most species, teeth are seen in the first year of life.

Fangs typically look pointy and shark-like until they get a little older (somewhere between 3-6, it varies amongst children) and the teeth start to differentiate themselves in a “human-like” smile.

Children with fangs should have a greater variety in their diet for the sake of tooth shaping and development. Fangs need to be kept sharp. They can have slightly tougher food or snacks, and may display the “kill shake” when eating. This is normal. Supplement with teething toys as needed, but keep a close eye on them. It’s best to engage them a little like a tug of war to help develop the biting instinct and lengthening of the teeth.

Tails, like fangs, do not have set rules for growth or appearance. Some children of purer lineages get them as early as 3, and some get them as they move into the teenage years. There is no set age for tail development. If the child itches their back/bottom a lot, tends to streak, and shows general aggravation or discomfort, it’s best to take them to a health specialist to see if they’re developing a tail.

It is a similar scenario for wings. The child may cry or scratch a lot. Be prepared for biting and wrestling your children into shirts. Back rubs, cold creams, and soft textures are recommended. Though VERY RARE, some children can develop their wings within the first year of life. It is more normal to see them sprout between the ages of 3-5

Should the child develop wings young, they will take on a life of their own. They will twitch and flap at random times and this is normal. This is the child’s brain working wing movement into the subconscious, just as it would breathing. Devildom children who have wings go on to move them reflexively and this is how that starts.

Keep an eye on your child. They will try to hover and may be able to pull their body weight and travel short distances (about 30 seconds) within the first year of having them. Within two or three years they will have better altitude and some sense of guiding with a bit of a struggle. Prepare to be dive-bombed “accidentally” and for things to be broken in bad landings

There have been reports of full-blooded and half-blooded Devildom children gaining night vision. You can determine if your child has this by whether their eyes grow in the dark. Remember the rule of thumb: the older the demon lineage, the brighter their eyes. If obtained, this stays with them for life. The degree of clarity varies amongst children.

Children may develop horns. All horns start out as tiny velvet nubs once they break the surface of the scalp. Prior to breaking the surface, the child may scratch at their scalp excessively, rub their heads on things, or headbutt tougher surfaces to counteract the pressure and itchiness they feel. Scratching their head or brushing their hair may help but nothing can be done until the horns breach. If the horns do not breach, take them to a healthcare facility. They may need help.

Horns should be watched closely as they start to take shape. Some shapes need to be regularly broken or shaved to prevent the child from harming themselves

Children are driven to develop their horns and may try to shave off the velvet lining by rubbing against family members or hard surfaces. This is normal.

It is not uncommon for children to try to “lock horns” with each other when younger. This is another way to shave off the lining. Some studies indicate that this type of play may make them develop faster. If one of the parents have horns, it is encouraged to do this with great care

Although not scientifically proven, the vast majority of Devildom parents swear by rubbing horns to soothe tantrums and put children to sleep. Seems to work. Interestingly, this trait carries on to later stages of life but brings a greater variety of reactions.

It is not uncommon to see growth spurts and great deals of change between the first 7-13 years of life (7-13 by human standards). After this, the demon will stagnate. Their rate of development can vary but demons live for thousands of years so it takes a very long time for signs of aging to occur

Old records suggest that feasting on human souls or the blood of other magical creatures may accelerate this process but these records cannot be confirmed.

Certain activities, such as participating in a pact, are prohibited until the child is 1,800 or older. Their magical capacity is not there and they cannot legally be bound in a pact. If a sorcerer or sorceress is pushing for a pact or you believe a pact has been made in bad faith, a grievance can be filed with the magical review board. If the other party is found guilty, a piece of them may be taken for consumption for the sake of “fairness”. Repeat offenders will be handled by Lord Diavolo (and are usually eaten. This has been “tentatively” amended due to the effort to unite the three realms)

Children who come from very powerful lineages (for example: one of the Seven Lords) may exhibit that key sin trait from a very early age. Some children will be hungrier than others, some will want more attention than others, some will be far stronger and may accidentally break things. Be prepared and parent accordingly.

Those born to succubus/incubi/naga lineages may show signs of charming or hypnotism from the age of two or when they can form sentences. If a member of your family has a natural susceptibility to this, brush up on negating spells and personal reinforcement charms.

#Obey Me!#obey me! x reader

162 notes · View notes

wisterialagoon · 3 years

Text

For you, I'll stay : pt1

Dabi is one of the top soldiers of the League of Villains. He does the dirty work and feels the stain of crime on his hands. You're an Assistant Inspector at the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency, resigned to records-keeping instead of doing actual fieldwork. What happens when these two become intertwined in the most prominent political event that changed the era of 1990's Tokyo Japan?

Warnings: Violence (a girl gets beat up in this chapter), gangs, eventual smut(not in this chapter tho)

Tokyo Metropolitan Police Agency, Kantō Region, Japan.

January 9th, 1990, Tuesday.

22:30 hrs.

"It's going to be a long night," she thought, while fixing her desk for the fifth time. There was a haphazard pile of file folders, an unboxed diskette pack, and coffee cup stains all over her table calendar. She quickly reorganises the file folders, placing them in chronological order, then according to crime. Then, she matches the diskettes, which contain additional data such as interrogation footage, with each pile. Lastly, she makes her way to the pantry to refill her mug with coffee, humming along to a tune that was receiving more airplay recently.

It was an uneventful night, to say the least. As usual, she worked overtime, working on organising the paperwork and records of each case-from instigation to case management. She loved it initially, but now that she's six months into this new assignment, she could feel herself wearing down with how emotionally, physically and mentally taxing everything is. It wasn't so much the quantity or frequency of the load, but the content itself.

Seeing death, rape, theft and disappearances on a daily basis was starting to take a toll on her mental health, and even if she learned how to compartmentalise, there was something about seeing all the details that made her sleep less and less these days. The photos of dead bodies or visages of crying relatives would disturb her to no end, and having to type out each case report even if it meant tagging it as a cold case, was something that never really sat well with her.

Her direct senior, the only female Inspector in the agency-the only one who was actually nice, unlike the rest of the police force who talk about her during lunch breaks and agency dinners-tell her that the feeling of being "uninvolved" and "useless" will soon pass. "Besides," she tells her during one of the rare nights that they're both doing overtime, "You've got potential."

She sighs, wary of the compliment. "I just... I wish I could be doing more."

"You'll have your fair share of fieldwork and interrogations, Y/N" she says, patting the younger girl's shoulder. "Just keep working well, and the Chief will soon see your potential."

That last line resonated with her the most. She knew that the Chief was a firm leader-he did routine inspections, called people in his office to ask for status reports and he'd set all sorts of deadlines. But he was also known for being experienced in reading people just with one look.

So the question was, what was his assessment of her?

Did the Chief view her just like how the rest of the agency did-an Assistant Inspector who was only fit for clerical work even if she had graduated at the top of her class? Did he even notice her presence in the building-or was she too conscious of all the judgemental stares thrown her way because she was the first female recruit in a long while?

That was it, she thought, not noticing that her cup had overflowed.

With a sharp curse, she flung her hand away from the scalding beverage, and moved to grab some tissues-her mind thoroughly forgetting the questions that had darted in her mind not a minute ago.

As she dabbled the tissue on her hands and shirt, the police hotline rang, disturbing the silence of the otherwise empty floor. Alarmed at the prospect of a crime or report coming in at this hour, she runs towards the desk of the patrol and public safety unit.

"SMPA, what is your concern?" she asks, voice surprisingly level. When there wasn't a response, she asks again, this time a notch louder.

"Kidnapping," the voice cuts through the radio silence, its texture a rich timbre with a raspy undertone. Caught off guard at the mention of a kidnapping, she scrambles for a notepad and a pen. "23:00, 6 Chome-10-1 Roppongi, Minato City, Tokyo 106-6108, Japan. Takahashi Yua." In hastily written script, she takes note of the details, not once interrupting the man on the line.

"Who is this? Where is your intel from?" she finally asks, after she hears mere breathing sounds. "Hello?"

The person on the line doesn't respond, instead opting to breathe heavily before the line dies.

"Wha-" she exhales, overwhelmed with the situation. It wasn't unheard of for random tips to come in the station, that much was true. But a tip at this time? And with that much detail? She was wary enough that there wasn't any crime traffic recently but this is proving to be the suspicious exception.

Shaking off her doubts, she dials the home number of Inspector Sato, the head of the patrol and public safety unit. She knows he'll definitely give her an earful for calling at such a late hour-and to his house no less, but if what the man said was true, and if her gut was right, someone was after the daughter of the Minister of National Defense.

At the sixth ring, he picks up and greets her with a litany of questions. "Who is this? Do you have any idea what time it is? Whoever you are, you better have a damn good reason for waking me up!" he rattles off, temper flaring.

"This is Miyasaki Y/N, sir." she says, surprised at how stable her voice was. "Assistant Inspec-"

"Ah, the personal assistant." his tongue clicks, and even if she didn't see, she knew he was shaking his head. "What is it? Here to ask help again in records-keeping?"

At that, she presses her mouth in a thin line, stopping herself from giving him a piece of her mind. She knew that they would always find fault in whatever she does but sometimes she wants to just put them in their place and prove herself.

But now wasn't the time to do that.

"No, sir." she starts, fisting her hand. "There's been an emergency call to the patrol and public service hotline. A tip was given about a kidnapping at apartment 6 Chome-10-1 in Roppongi -"

"Let me stop you right there." he expels a deep breath, clearly uninterested with her report. "You do know what that area is like, right? Or do you not even know where it is?"

"It's in Minato city. The residence listed houses many important political figures, it has national defence" she says, foregoing the other details and taking the opportunity to transition to the most important part. "Sir, you see, this could actually mean that-"

"This means that there is no kidnapping. I mean, if you're trying to pull a joke, it's a terrible one. Hell, there's hardly any crime in that area!" he gives a dry laugh. "it's an executive residential area, guarded and all that. As you said, National Defence is there and so are diplomats and expats. No one in their right mind would attempt a prank call, let alone a kidnapping."

"But the caller gave a name, possibly that of the victim. We should send a team, I have the address. I could lead the-" again, he cuts her off. At this point, a vein was threatening to pop at how unprofessional he was being, but she'd rather not break out into an argument with a direct senior-especially when he was clearly already annoyed at her.

"So this is why you really called, huh?" he chuckles. "Look, no one knows how you got in, or what strings you pulled to pass the Academy, but at the rate you're going, you'll never lead a team-much less my team." the certainty in his voice washed over her, causing her to remain silent at his blatant jibe. "So go back to whatever you're doing and don't even attempt to call me or anyone from the agency to waste their time with your tall tales." the other line clicks, ending their phone call.

Exasperated, she puts down the receiver with a little too much force than was necessary. "Fine, I'll do it myself." she mutters, putting on her coat, muffler and grabbing her car keys.

30 minutes. She'll have to pray that she makes it. After all, she doesn't have much time.

6 Chome-10-1 Roppongi, Minato City, Tokyo 106-6108, Japan.

The Takahashi Residence.

23:00 hrs.

The gate to the apartment building alone rendered her speechless. Pure brass balusters and a towering guardhouse greeted her, complete with intimidating security personnel who wasted no time in asking for her identification.

"Assistant Inspector Lee, from the SMPA. We received a tip about criminal activity taking place in the vicinity of this residence," she starts, not giving any specific details. "This won't take long." she adds, as a last ditch effort to convince them that she means business.

"Alright," one of the guards lets her through. As she rolled up her window, she catches a muffled dialogue between the two. "Isn't she a little too young to be an Inspector? And criminal activity? Talk about absurd."

Scoffing, she speeds up to the address the caller gave and in a few minutes, found herself outside the apartment building. But she was too late. There, standing by the of the main entrance, was the defence Minister himself, with blood on his hands and a shell-shocked expression.

"My daughter..." she hears him mutter. From just behind the door, she hears distant voices screaming for someone to call the police. "Dial the police! Or call the National Defense for all I care! Someone do something!" the voice got louder as she linked it with a face-Takahashi Riku, the Minister's wife. As if seeing the police lights flashing atop her car, The ministers knees gave out.

She makes haste to catch him before he falls, and as she does, she gets her shirt stained with blood, and scrapes her elbow with the force of his weight. Not minding the sting of the wind blowing by her scraped skin, she pulls out her walkie-talkie, and radios the police patrolling Roppongi that night.

"This is Assistant Inspector Miyasaki Y/N, does anyone copy?" she starts, practically shouting. For some reason, she felt an adrenaline rush at the development of events. "Repeat, this is Assistant Inspector Miyasaki, does anyone copy?"

After a few beats, a voice breaks through the white noise. "This is Inspector Takami, copy. What's your 10-13?"

"I've got a two zero seven." she says, forgetting that she hadn't even scouted the area for verification that a kidnapping actually took place. "6 Chome-10-1 Roppongi, Minato City. Send a medic for shock treatment." she rattles off, surprised at herself for actually being able to focus and act given the situation.

Then again, this was her job. Her first fieldwork-albeit unwarranted and unapproved.

"Copy that, 10-4. I'll run code. ETA twenty minutes." he affirms his direct response before ending the dispatch call.

6 Chome-10-1 Roppongi, Minato City, Tokyo 106-6108, Japan.

The Takahashi Residence.

23:20 hrs.

After twenty minutes, two police cars pull up the driveway. One belonged to Inspector Takami, the other was the patrol for back-up. He closes the gap between them in five, quick strides, hands in his coat's pockets.

"What happened?" he asks, ready for a briefing.

"There's nothing definitive yet..." she trails off, mentally berating herself for not even scouting the interior to study the scene. "But I've spoken to the family."

"You mean you've spoken to the Minister of National Defense." he supplies, his breath fogging up in front of him. "What did he say?"

"The family heard the door slam shut, and when he went to check his daughter was gone," hesitant, she clears her throat as a stalling method. "He found her in the marking lot, the girl was bruised and bloodied, unconscious. Looks like she was forced to inhale somthing, and her hands were tied."

"Attempted kidnapping?" he asks, stealing a glance at the apartment buildings façade.

"High chance for it." she answers, clearing her throat again. "Listen, Inspector, I received a tip in the agency around an hour ago-saying something about a kidnapping taking place at this time, at this exact address."

He raises his eyebrows, evidently taken aback at this new piece of information. "And?" he asks, expectant.

"And I think this is a set-up." she declares, sure of something for the first time that night. "Whoever is behind this, wanted us to come, thinking it was a kidnapping when it was an assault and break-and-entry."

"What are you getting at, Miyasaki?"

"There's a reason why Miss. Takahashi was assaulted and not kidnapped. They're telling us something." she says, handing out her notepad which contained the details of the emergency call a while back.

"What do you think this could possibly be then?"

"I don't know... yet." fuelled with conviction, she fists her hands at her sides, no longer feeling that sensation of helplessness or uselessness back in the agency when she was working on records-keeping. "But I'll find out."

9-chome, Kitakarasuyama, Setagaya-ku, Tokyo.

Assistant Inspector Miyasaki Y/N's Residence.

02:00 hrs.

Finally back at her apartment after filing the case and sending off the Minister's family with words of certainty about exhausting their whole force on the job, she slumps on the sofa, feeling her body become dead weight.

"God..." she sighs, fatigued. "That was a long night."

64 notes · View notes

spicycreativity · 3 years

Note

The Core Four (Logan, Roman, Virgil and Patton) are somewhere spooky, old house, in the woods, etc etc, and it's a place where poltergeist/demon/ghost/devil/spirit/whatever you want Remus resides and haunts and is scary and evil in. (Or they summon him) And he's like "Ooh time to mess with them muahahahaha!" but he sees Patton and gets like this "Cute boy!" And gets interested in Patton instead.

Boop

Words: 2k

Pairing: Pre-slash Intruality

Other notes: College AU, mild Vitaminwater slander, somewhat based on my own college experience of being straight edge and bored all the time and also owning multiple fist-sized chunks of quartz crystal purchased from the tent outside the gas station down by the on-ramp on the far side of town 🥴 Our abandoned dorm building was not haunted, tho

Content warnings: Mentions of underage drinking (not depicted), mentions of overdosing (non-graphic), Remus is sexually forward toward Patton, swearing, innuendo, etc. Still, I'd only rate this T

While it was rooming assignments that brought Roman, Patton, Logan, and Virgil together during the first weeks at university, it was their mutual unwillingness to break any sort of rule that kept them together. While their peers were drinking smuggled alcohol and racking up write-ups from the RAs, the foursome would sit on Logan and Virgil's side of the dorm suite drinking Vitaminwater and attempting to entertain themselves with board games and Netflix. This, predictably, got old quickly and weekends soon became a desperate battle to stave off boredom and existential ennui.

The fraying thread of Roman's patience finally snapped the night Patton suggested Pogs. The lack of adventure had chafed at him longer than it had the others and he secretly longed for some sort of thrill, even if it meant breaking the rules.

"Ugh," Roman threw himself backwards onto the pillow he'd stolen from Logan's bed, nearly knocking over Patton's mostly-full bottle of grape Vitaminwater. "We're seriously so lame that we can't think of anything better to do than Pogs?"

"Hey," said Virgil from atop his bed, and shook a few drops of açai-blueberry-pomegranate sugar water onto Roman's forehead.

"Sorry, Patton," Roman added, wrinkling his nose at the unpleasant sensation. "No offense, but I'm just so bored! I was expecting more adventure when I finally left my dreary old hometown."

"I thought you told us you were from Los Angeles," Logan said, tossing a package of Wet Wipes down onto Roman's chest. "And Virgil, I understand why you would want to teach Roman a lesson, but please try not to stain my pillowcase."

"What do you wanna do, Roman?" Patton asked, adjusting himself where he was propped up against one of the legs of Logan's bed.

"I don't know! All I know is that I have the most boring Snap story out of everyone in my stupid 100-level History class. Remy went surfing the other day. And he's from Nebraska! How does he know how to surf?"

"There it is," Virgil said.

Roman sat up again and opened up the Wet Wipes so he could clean off his face. "Lightning round! Suggestions. Go!" He pointed at Virgil.

"Um," said Virgil. "Uh-- Sca-- Uh, horror marathon. Horror movie marathon."

"Ugh, no." Roman pointed at Logan.

"Studying."

"Oh, come on. Patton?"

"We all go to bed early so we can wake up and get breakfast together before the dining hall runs out of waffle batter?"

"Guuuys." Roman pointed at Virgil again.

"Man, I dunno, Roman! Like I'm the expert in what looks good on a Snapchat story."

"You're the one who's bored," Logan added. "Why don't you suggest something?"

"That's not how it works!" Roman shot back. "I'm the-- the arbiter, the czar! You're the idea guys."

"Okay, fine!" Virgil leaned over the edge of the bed to better give Roman the evil eye. "How about we break into the shut-down dorms with a ouija board and try to contact the spirit of that kid who OD'ed in the bathroom?"

"That's the spirit," Roman said.

"Ha," Patton said weakly.

"Wait," said Virgil, already desperately trying to make eye contact with Logan. "I was kidding. You can't be serious."

"No, no, that's a great idea! Virgil, go get your ouija board and whatever other spooky shit you have tucked away.

"We're going now?" Patton squeaked.

Logan sighed and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Roman, anything you post to your Snapchat story can potentially be turned in as evidence and used to incriminate you. I suggest you leave your phone behind."

"Wait!" Virgil ran his hands through his hair, agitated. "You can't possibly be on board with this."

"I'm not," said Logan. "I am offering Roman advice for the same reason high school nurses' offices offer condoms: not as an encouragement, but as a safety measure. Either we all agree to go now or we all agree to go tomorrow night after Roman spends the whole day pouting and whining--"

"Hey!"

"So I suggest we just get it over with," Logan concluded.

"Seriously?" Patton was already pale and shaking, holding a stray hoodie of Virgil's close to his chest.

"It's okay, Patton," Virgil said, offering him a reassuring smile. "I'll let you wear my horn of protection amulet."

It took just under an hour to get everyone changed into darker clothes and outfitted with protective symbols from Virgil's collection. In addition to silver amulets and charms, he had handed out fist-sized chunks of quartz crystal to all of them with careful instructions not to lose them, as he wanted everything back at the end of the night.

But soon (all too soon for Patton) they faced the looming silhouette of the abandoned Monroe Hall. It was in surprisingly good repair despite the lack of security cameras and floodlights to deter intruders. In fact, the only light came from the blue emergency callbox situated a few yards down the path.

"We, genius," Virgil said, turning to Roman. "How do we get in?"

"I don't know!" Roman tossed up his hands. "I'd Google how to pick a lock but somebody" --he glared at Logan-- "made us leave our phones in the microwave."

"I already told you, it's a functional Faraday cage and--"

"Yeah, yeah, how about we save the science lectures for 8:00 am on Tuesdays and Thursday," Roman said.

"That was oddly specific," Virgil muttered, trying and failing to exchange a glance with Patton, who was staring at the ground and turning over the quartz crystal in his hands. "Wait, I've got an idea." He took his own chunk of quartz out of his pocket and slammed it through the glass door, sending a shower of tempered glass clattering onto the tiled floor inside. Then he stepped through the hole and beckoned the others in after him. "Let's go."

Patton made a muffled sound of fear and grabbed onto Logan's arm. "You don't really think there's a ghost, do you?"

"Of course not," Logan said, leading Patton inside and following Virgil to the stairs.

"Wait!" Roman jogged ahead to lead the charge. "Are we not gonna talk about Virgil just--"

"Found a broken door and stepped through it?" Virgil interrupted, bumping Roman with his hip. "No, we are not."

Roman led them up a flight of stairs and down a corridor similar to the one in their own dorm building. All the doors they tried were locked, so they set up the ouija board in the hallway outside the bathrooms.

"Okay, gang," Virgil said once they were all sequestered around the board. "Pointer fingers on the planchette."

"Not our whole hands?" Roman asked.

Virgil shot him a sideways glare. "I'm sorry, are you the expert on the occult?"

"Are you?" Roman asked.

"Relative expert," Virgil said, sticking out his tongue. "Now. Pointer fingers on the planchette."

"I really don't know if this is a good idea," Patton said, extending a shaking hand.

"You should be more afraid of campus security," Logan said. "Although from the state of the building, it appears that we are the first to successfully enter."

"Nothing's happening," Roman complained, his eyes on the planchette.

"We haven't asked a question yet, genius," Virgil sneered.

"It seems rude to barge into someone's house and just start asking questions," Patton said. He looked up, addressing the ghost. "Hi!"

The planchette jerked and began to shake. Anticipating Virgil's accusation, Roman held up his other hand. "It's not me!"

"Shut up!" Virgil snapped. "It's moving."

They read the letters out loud together as the planchette began to move around the board: "N-I-C-E." Pause. "C-O-C-K."

"Oh, come on." Virgil grabbed the planchette and threw it at Roman's face. "Not funny."

"I swear that wasn't me!" Roman said, smacking the planchette down. It clattered across the board and came to a stop by the number '2.'

"Roman," Patton chided, "it's really not nice to mess with us like that."

"You too?' Roman said. He turned to Logan. "Come on, Specs, you know it wasn't me."

"I know it wasn't a ghost. I know it wasn't me. I know Patton and Virgil aren't likely to make that sort of joke. Therefore, I can safely posit that it must have been you. Although I wouldn't make an accusation without more evidence."

"Oh, come on!" Roman put his hand on the planchette despite Virgil's noise of protest. "Hey, spirit. Can you do something else spooky so my friends stop accusing me of--"

What happened next was equal parts anticlimactic and chilling: Roman's eyes turned green and began to emit a gentle glow. He was silent for only a moment before turning to Patton with a chipper smile. "Hey, hot stuff! Nice cock."

"Whoa" said Virgil, scrambling backwards toward the wall. "What the fuck."

"He invited me in!" said Roman, or more accurately, the ghost possessing Roman's body.

"Oh my God," Patton said. "That's not Roman."

"Yeah, no shit!"

"I'll give him back in a minute," said the spirit. "I just had to shoot my shot with hottie over here. What's your name, sugar?"

"Uh," said Patton, glancing wildly at Virgil (who was fumbling in his pocket for his holy water or his salt, whatever he found first) and Logan (who was actively blue-screening). "Patton?"

"Nice to meet you, Patton." The ghost stuck Roman's hand out for a shake. "Name's Remus. Has anyone ever told you you're kinda DILF-y for a college student?"

"N-no?"

"Well, you are."

"Thanks, I guess." Patton sat back and pulled his legs up to his chest in an unmistakably defensive pose. "Um, is there something that you wanted, Remus?"

"I already told you!" Roman's face beamed in a way it never had before, his eyes twitching strangely in their sockets. "I just popped in to shoot my shot. So?"

"He's propositioning you," Logan hissed.

"I…" said Patton, panic whiting out his mind. Unable to find words, he held up his left hand to show off the silver band on his ring finger.

"You're married?" Roman's body leaned forward to read the engraved writing. "True love waits."

"It's a purity ring," Virgil explained, finally extricating a small vial from the tangle of cords and chains in his pocket. "And this is holy water."

"Wait," said Remus, "are you guys exorcising me? Cause I swear I'm gonna give you your friend back. I'm dead, not evil. Also," he turned to Patton, "is that a no?"

"Yes!"

"Wait, so you do wanna bang?"

"No!"

"Alright, alright, damn." Remus leaned Roman's body back, putting up his hands in a defensive gesture. "You know, I was gonna go full poltergeist and try to see if I could make you all cry, but I changed my mind when I saw Hot Pat-tato. Soooo, you're welcome."

"Yeah," said Virgil, "I'm not sure we should be thanking you for taking over our friend's body. Give him back, by the way."

"Wait!" said Patton. "Remus, why aren't you at rest? Is there something we can do to help you move on?"

"Nah," said Remus. "To be honest, I just wanted to haunt the crap out of some dumb college kids."

"Need I point out," Logan said, "that you are also a dumb college kid?"

Virgil looked around at the empty halls, walls of closed doors, the dusty spiderwebs hanging like streamers in the corners. "Wait. There's nobody to haunt."

"Yeah," said Remus. Roman's shoulders shrugged. "It's been kinda lonely and boring.

"Sucks to suck," Virgil said, brandishing the sealed vial of holy water. "Okay, time to go."

Remus sighed and crossed Roman's arms over his chest. "Fine. I didn't really want to haunt you guys anyway."

"I might…" Patton twisted up his mouth thoughtfully, rubbing his fingers along the quartz crystal in his pocket. "Maybe I'll come back and say hello sometime."

The grin that unfurled across Roman's face was so familiar that Patton nearly hugged him. But his eyes were still that slightly luminescent green, still twitching and rolling like he was trying to take in every detail of the world all at once. "Really?"

Patton nodded and held out his hand palm-up. Roman's hand was icy, but Patton forced himself not to flinch as he brought his head down and kissed Remus' knuckles. "Really."

For a moment, there was silence. Then came a gentle warmth, and confused brown eyes staring down at Patton, who only had time to gasp before Roman tilted his head in confusion. "Um, Patton? Why are you holding my hand?"

#you are contractually obligated to point out any formatting errors or typos #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #intruality #college au #spicywrites #patton sanders #remus sanders #anyway i am forever entertained by the idea of ONLY projecting my idiosyncrasies onto the characters and none of my psychological trauma #hence the overshare about college #you can know every exact details of what i did from ages 18-21 but i will never ever tell you how my parents fucked me up #no bummers! funny shit only!

11 notes · View notes

pixeldolly · 4 years

Text

A Strange Town Called Hopeville

Homecoming

See also: The Settlers

It took a while, but the first instalment of my Strangetown prequel which I kept teasing is here!

Disclaimer: I make no claims to complete historical accuracy - first of all, because the story mixes real life history with Sims lore, and second of all because I am not an expert on the setting (if this had been Victorian London, it would have been a different matter, heh). Still, I did my best to make it look authentic within the limits of the game and available cc that I could find.

Follow the cut for Millie’s arrival in StrangetownHopeville and some ominous hints of what’s to come next!

I hope you all enjoy it!

The day Bernard and I were married was the happiest of my life.

It was a relatively modest ceremony which half of my family declined to attend – my choice of husband was unpopular with those of my relatives who believed I was squandering my dowry on a failed artist – but I didn’t care.

We were together. We were happy.

That was four years ago.

Bernard tried to make a name for himself in the art world, but encountered rejection at every turn. His ideas were too novel, his techniques too unconventional for the Windenburg Academy of Fine Arts. We didn’t need the money; my dowry was substantial and Bernard’s father had left him a tidy sum in the bank as well, but it wasn’t like my husband to content himself with living off someone else’s wealth.

He wanted to prove himself, to the world and to my family, who were beginning to whisper that I should leave Bernard and seek a better prospect. We had yet to produce a child, so as far as they were concerned, nothing tied me to him. Naturally, I refused, but spirits were low in those days.

Then, around three years ago, Bernard read an advert in the newspaper calling for prospectors and settlers willing to venture into the uncharted wilderness of the West, beyond Oasis Springs. The idea appealed to him – establishing a thriving new settlement, discovering valuable resources, making his mark on the world. He began reading all he could on the subject, even tracked down a couple of pioneers who had attempted it before. Their accounts were jumbled and disturbing to say the least: they spoke of buildings collapsing in the night for no apparent reason, unexpected cave-ins, strange disappearances and things they couldn’t bring themselves to tell us about. Still, Bernard refused to let go of the idea. He stashed his easel and paintbrushes in the attic and started buying survival equipment and maps.

I was heartbroken; I begged him not to go, but he went just the same.

The journey between Windenburg and Oasis Springs alone takes several months on land and sea; beyond that, who could say? Bernard wrote sporadically – it was the only way I even knew my husband was still alive. A year into my marriage, and I already felt like a widow.

Then, two years ago, a letter arrived to let me know that they had found a promising area and building works had begun. They named the new town Hopeville, a symbol of their shared dream that it would one day become a prosperous community. Once the construction of our new home was complete, I was to leave the familiar safety of Windenburg and join Bernard on the frontier.

It has been a long and exhausting journey, but that day is finally here.

B: “Millie, my darling! I can hardly believe it! Welcome home!”

I had dreamed of this moment so many times…

But reality has a way of defying imagination, does it not?

For one thing, the romantic reunion from my fantasies would have to wait. We were not alone, and practicalities such as unpacking and assigning quarters to servants have a way of getting in the way of more pleasant activities. Truthfully, it had been a long day, and I was looking forward to some food and rest.

B: “I know it’s a far cry from your mansion in Windenburg, but I hope you’ll be comfortable here.”

M: “It’s beautiful.”

Beautiful, yes…but cold. Even though we were in the desert, this was a cold house.

I dread to think how much it cost to build.

B: “If there’s anything you need, just ask. I am yours to command, as they say.”

M: “You’ll be staying, then?”

B: “As long as you want me to! I already told Jones and Muenda that I would be unavailable unless it’s an emergency.”

M: “I cannot wait to see the town!”

B: “We can go tomorrow, but I must warn you – it’s less a ‘town’ and more a ‘street’ with a handful of buildings on each side. Very rustic; I’m afraid you’ll find it dreadfully boring. Oh! And the locals may try to frighten you with their tales – don’t listen to them.”

M: “What do you mean? What kind of tales?”

B: “Oh, you know. Seeing a large coyote sniffing around their cattle and claiming it was the wolf-man.”

B: “Weeping ghosts haunting the graveyard which no less than two people swear they have seen, coincidentally after staggering out of the saloon late at night.”

B: “Superstitious nonsense, nothing more. These ignorant yokels have quite the imaginations, particularly when fuelled by drink.”

M: “So, all those strange stories people tell about this place are just that? Stories?”

B: “Precisely!”

M: “I have missed you…I can’t believe you are here, with me, right now.”

B: “I am here, my love, and I’m never leaving you again.”

Later, while Bernard settled accounts with the waggon driver and gave him a list of items to bring back from Oasis Springs on his next trip, I had a few moments to myself, in my new bedroom.

Our new bedroom.

I kept mulling over what Bernard had said over lunch, filled with a remote sense of anxiety I couldn’t quite place. I reached for my journal - setting my thoughts down on paper has always had a way of clearing my mind.

I cannot help but think that my husband is keeping things from me.

He has changed – he was always proud, but not arrogant.

At the same time, however, he is very much the Bernard I fell in love with.

When he took me in his arms, it was as though we had never been apart.

Every touch, every motion was familiar, his beard tickling my bare skin as he bent down to kiss my arm. Just like he always did.

I was happy, for the last time.

#sims 2 #the sims 2 #sims 3 #ts2 #sims 2 story #strangetown #ts2 historical #a strange town called hopeville

23 notes · View notes

waitingtoexhale · 3 years

Text

Queer Media One Tragic at a Time Has Reprogrammed My Brain

I find myself continually lowering my standards for the type of media I consume. Queer character? Check. Limited tragedy? Check. At least once instance of happiness? Check. Alright, that’s good enough for me. I LOVE THIS *insert media type here* SHOW, MOVIE, SONG! But, along with the good comes the bad and the ugly. Along with the brief instances of happy, complex, characters come the violence, the stereotypes, the woe. At this point, simply having a queer character that doesn’t die is the best I can hope for and that truly stresses me out. On a regular basis.

In Queer Youth Cultures, Karen said it perfectly, “I think there's a lack of homosexual characters who are presented in a positive and uplifting, or not even positive and uplifting but just represented on the screen or in the media in general. I guess it's a desire to have a voice. I know this sounds like pure shit, but it's a desire to have a voice, to feel that l'm being spoken for or even just represented. But that there's a voice up there that's representing, or at least trying to represent my own experience. I want to have a say in what's going on and I'm not willing to just accept the images that are represented in front of me as being the only possibility. I take it maybe beyond its limitations of what's there. I try to expand, try to just open it up to possible choices that exist for me that might not exist for the creators for that particular film or TV show. But I will be heard” (2008, p.175-176).

Shameless acceptance of the toxic gay dynamic:

While sexuality is particular to each individual, the social constructions of heterosexuality and homosexuality are cultural categories humans use to make sense of their sexuality (Queer Analysis, 2010, p.198). Shameless, an American comedy-drama television series based on a British show of the same name, stars Cameron Monaghan as Ian, a closeted teenage boy who realizes he is gay and navigates the complexities of his queerness as a social identity and Noel Fisher as Mickey, a closeted homophobic thug who upon realizing he is gay engages in a sexual relationship with the one other queer person he knows who also happens to be the kid he violently bullied. Ian and Mickey start as a toxic portrayal of settling and acceptability in its truest form. Ian is in a predatory relationship with an adult and still possess a great deal of internalized homophobia when he is essentially propositioned by Mickey and their turbulent relationship begins. Mickey is struggling between his desires as a closeted gay teen and his need to match the criminal ideals expected of his father and family name. They are an explosive pair that seem to cause each other physical pain and mental anguish, yet the fans are wholly supportive. Even when healthy potential partners are introduced, the toxic couple of Ian and Mickey are reunited time and time again because media has established a trope where queer characters are only allowed complicated togetherness. Queer characters are punished for choosing their queerness and therefore not allowed true love and happiness. Despite having this knowledge and nothing in common personally with these characters, I love this couple and I love this pairing, so I am part of the problem. I am a product of this generation of idolizing toxic behaviors between characters because unfortunately those are the only “happy” queer characters I have seen continually produced. I have settled into a pattern of accepting negative stereotypes as simply good enough. I have traded the simple fact that the queer character doesn’t die for the harsh reality of their lives.

Another sad queer lacking Glee:

When queer characters are introduced, there are a set number of personality types and lived experiences they are allowed to have. Take Dave Kurofsky from Glee who serves as the closeted homophobic bully who after being outed in the “On My Way” episode attempts suicide and is comforted by the out-and-proud effeminate Kurt, a previous victim of Kurofsky’s wrath. We get to observe the pointed shift in Kurofsky’s personality from homophobic bully to repentant closeted queer, but the lack of character development unfortunately makes it difficult to feel sorry for him as a character. Instead, as an audience, we are forced to revel in “media representations of queer culture as essentialist, marking out the dichotomies between male and female, heterosexual versus homosexual (Queer Youth Cultures, 2008, p.175). Kurofsky is unable to learn what it means to be a queer man and grow from his internalized homophobia because he is coming his existence and framing his life experiences through that of Kurt; this is apparent when Kurofsky is unable to dance with Kurt at prom because of the perception of gayness. We accept Kurofsky’s story as powerful and real and heartbreaking because it is, but at what point do content creators have an obligation to tell the story a different way, in a positive uplifting light?

Degrassi: The Next Generation of bury your gays tropes:

Degrassi: The Next Generation, a Canadian teen drama television series, made history for tackling the tough social issues affecting teens, but frequently not talked about. They embraced diversity in their casting and range of topics covered while spearheading a progressive movement of introducing characters traditionally absent from popular media. Adam, a trans male character played by a cis female actress is a well-rounded first introduction to many into the lives of trans youth. The audience is familiarized with concepts such as passing and outing as well as the complexities involved in sexuality vs gender. Adam, besides being inaccurately portrayed by a cis woman, which is damaging to the idea that trans folks are the gender they have identified with rather than their gender assigned at birth, provides a much needed avenue of representation for queer youth in popular media. Continuing with our previously identified tropes, as a result of Adam being happy, relatively healthy, and well-liked he has to die. Queer characters are not afforded regular happiness in media they are given a taste then sacrificed as tools of writing via violence, sacrifice, or martyrdom. Adam is not gay bashed or driven to suicide as other queer characters are, but instead tragically killed as a texting while driving PSA. This death is particularly hard felt because Adam was truly shaping out to be a normal high school kid facing the complexities of life and surviving, but the creators, once again, took a queer character as the source for a lesson in some predetermined idea that queer happiness is short lived and tragic regardless of circumstance. There is a need for punishment of their queerness.

Queer punishment, a Supernatural concept:

What do shipping, fandoms, and heteronormative dominant culture have in common? Queerbaiting. Queerbaiting, “a term employed by media fans to criticize homoerotic suggestiveness in contemporary television when this suggestiveness is not actualized in the program narrative” (Brennan, 2016, p.1). A concept typically negatively connoted is a primary tool of heteronormative culture ensuring queer culture remains as a subculture rather than its own, established independent source of media. Audiences, particularly queer individuals, are forced to imagine scenarios and worlds where their identities are represented and dominant. “By creating a fantasy space, queer youth have an environment where they are free to explore many possibilities” (Queer Youth Culture, 2008, p.174). From these creative worlds come the likes of couples like Dean and Castiel (#Destiel) from Supernatural. The creators introduce intimacy and connectedness; the couple is ideal and non-stereotypical or superficial. Unfortunately, our trend of no happy endings for queer media continues because despite the fan observations and urging this couple is never acknowledged or confirmed as such. They instead give several seasons of romantic teasing culminating in a teary subversive confession immediately preceded by death and not just any death, a death where Castiel, an angel character is drug to hell. The sub context is overwhelming in deciding queerness is so offensive that any acknowledgement to the sort should result in punishment akin to biblical reckoning.

Lingua Franca, the road to universal language and communication:

Even as queer media continually evolves becoming evermore accurate and inclusive the conditioning I have been subjected to, as a consumer of queer media, completely reprogram my brain. While watching something as relevant and present as Lingua Franca I am unable to completely enjoy the film as I am waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. Lingua Franca is a progressive film about a trans Filipina woman seeking a path to legal immigration in Trump’s America. The film is written, directed, and stars Isabel Sandoval an actual trans woman of color and therefore the portrayal is very real. As a film about a trans woman, the pace is melodic and light while the subject matter is focused on the life of Olivia rather than her transition or identity as a trans woman. While watching the film, I found it beyond refreshing that there were no invasive surgery questions or blatant misgendering by supposed loved ones. That being said, as a first watch through, it was anxiety inducing; the lack of discussion regarding Olivia’s trans identity led me to worry for her safety in a cis-heteropatriarchal world. When Olivia is engaging in her relationship with Alex I see the natural connections, simplicity, sensuality, and beauty, but I also worry about the potential for the violence I have come to expect when viewing true queer happiness. The scene where Olivia is outed by Alex’s friend shifted the entire tone of the film for me as I watched Alex spiral and truly cringed at the thought of watching another film showing an act of physical violence against a trans woman of color. While that thankfully did not happen, the fact that I remained restless throughout the entirety of the film waiting for it alludes to this reprogramming of sorts that has occurred. Creators show queer characters as poor unfortunate souls brought down by their queer identities therefore, I have come to expect and root for in some regards, a victim. There are limited instances when I can truly enjoy a queer film without a sinking feeling in my stomach waiting for the catch, waiting to exhale and simply experience queer joy.

#queer representation #intersectionality #queer youth culture #tragic queer #shameless #glee #degrassi #supernatural #lingua franca

1 note · View note

vee-angel · 5 years

Text

First Day of School (Part of the Sodom Virus Chronicles)

Synopsis and content warning: This series is set in a world where The Sodom Virus has infected everyone in the world. While it’s asymptomatic in males, females eventually get sick and die unless they’re regularly able to ingest sperm (for reasons not fully understood, the genetic virus seems to bond with male DNA, but only in it’s incomplete form). It can be swallowed, but is most efficiently absorbed through the membranes of the anus and (to a lesser extent) the vagina. If you want the full Introduction to the Sodom Virus universe, you can click the #sodomvirus tag at the bottom to find the post I wrote a while ago where I gave the details.

This first story details a girl named Ricki who has spent her life up until now in a religious sanctuary where she was protected from the depravity of the outside world. Now she’s going to have to go to school in the real world to catch up on her education.

Fair warning, stories set in this world will be sort of a grab-bag of extreme and taboo fetishes. Female inferiority is the central theme, but filth, violence, and abuse of all kinds will be scattered throughout the stories pretty casually.

Also, this will be my first ever illustrated story! Which is a trend I hope to continue.

* * * * *

First Subject: Female Humiliation and Degradation

“What do you mean, I’m “Property of the high-school??”

Ricki’s life had been in a rapid free-fall for the last three days. She had spent her life in a religious sanctuary where she’d been insulated from the misogynistic objectification the rest of the country participated in. She grew up hearing stories about how females were treated in the outside world. Rape, torture, humiliation, degradation. They were treated like objects with no regard for their humanity and expected to smile and thank their abusers.

As a child, Ricki had assumed that such tales were exaggerations meant to reinforce the safety of the sanctuary, but now that she’d seen a bit of the world, she wasn’t so sure.

“There’s another cunt who lives here at the school who I’ve assigned as your mentor to help you catch up on your education. You’ll meet her in your first class.”

The man across the desk from her seemed annoyed at her presence so Ricki decided against pushing further for fear of accidentally inciting some kind of punishment. “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” She replied before gathering her things and using the school-map she was given to navigate to her first classroom. As she walked, she wondered about what questions she should ask the “cunt” who was assigned to help her assimilate to this strange new world. Ricki wasn’t exactly sure what the word “cunt” meant, but she’d heard it a lot since the government raided her home a few days before, it seemed like it was a word these people used to refer to women and girls, but that was about all she could glean.

Ricki worried about her mother, the men from the government said that she had been declared a feminist and was being sent to a repository along with all the other adult women from the sanctuary. The men had been arrested and were charged with crimes as well, but she got the distinct sense that the penalty for the women was much harsher. They had told her that due to her age and circumstances, they were going to give her a chance to escape the same fate as her mother, but that she had better learn to abandon her feminist ideology “really fucking quick.”

She never thought of herself as a feminist. She grew up believing that her purpose was to be a good daughter, wife, and mother. To smile, and be pretty, and kind, and always pleasing to others. Ricki wasn’t sure how that could make her a feminist.

Well, she didn’t think it was right to be cruel to women, but that was because she didn’t think it was right to be cruel in general. Could that be it? Just because she thought women should be treated like people?

She wanted to be good, so she hoped that the other girl assigned to help her would be a good mentor. Maybe she would end up being like a big sister to her! She could only hope.

Finally, she reached the room indicated as her first class on the map. The lettering on the door read “Female Humiliation and Degradation.” Was that the name of the class?? Nerves made her pause briefly before entering, but she figured that good girls should be eager to do as they’re told, so she went in.

The first thing she noticed is that the room seemed very…. open. The far wall was almost entirely glass, overlooking a rather pleasant looking courtyard that Ricki guessed was used for leisure time between classes. There was an alternating pattern between tall, solid glass panels, and large windows that seemed able to slide up about four feet from ground level. Otherwise, the classroom seemed relatively ordinary, A few rows of neatly organized desks, and girls mulling about and chatting with one another as they wait for class to begin. The fashion sense of many of the girls was quite striking in its variety and daring. She noticed a girl she thought was wearing skin-colored leggings before realizing that she’d actually come to school completely bottomless! Ricki blushed as she wondered how common it was for girls to go around so…. on display, and turned her attention back to the lovely view through the glass wall. She briefly wondered why the windows opened from the floor, but her thoughts were interrupted by a smiling girl waving from the back of the classroom.

“Hey, you’re the new girl, right?” she called from across the room.

She turned to look at the source of the call. Whoa. The girl smiling and waving to her from the back of the room was breathtaking. So much that Ricki’s breath was literally taken. She just stared for a moment before remembering to breathe. She walked toward her and found her even more beautiful from up close.

She was tall, with long waves of cascading black hair framing exotic middle-eastern features. Sapphire eyes emphasized by dark eyeliner upon lightly tanned skin the color of beach sand. She wore a form-fitting off-the-shoulder crop top that barely covered what appeared to be very large and very perky breasts. Her bottom half was covered with what appeared to be tight blue-jeans that had a strange sort of lacing across the front.

“Hi!” Ricki greeted her new friend and extended her hand for a handshake.

The raven-haired beauty stared down at her hand, seemingly confused for a moment before understanding dawned on her. “Oh!” she said as she grabbed Ricki’s wrist and pressed her hand against her left breast, “You don’t need to wait for permission, you stupid cunt, you can just grab my tits whenever you want! That goes for all girls, by the way. Unless a man tells you not to.”

“Oh! Umm, thank you.” Ricki replied. She wasn’t really into girls sexually, but she didn’t want to make things harder for herself by being rude, so she made an effort to give the firm, perky orb a nice squeeze before removing her hand. “They’re very nice!”

“They’re fake, I used to have pathetic, ugly little C-cups like you, so I had to get pumped full of silicone so I could have a cute, little pair of bolt-on bimbotits.”

The way she spoke was jarring, both because of the insults she casually hurled at Ricki, and because of the dehumanizing way she spoke of herself.

“I’m Ricki, by the way.” she introduced herself, resisting the urge to extend her hand again.

“What a stupid name for a cunt.” she said giggling slightly, “I’m Sharaje” she said before leaning forward and pressing her pillowy scarlet lips against Ricki’s.

She tried not to seem unnerved by the emotional whiplash of Sharaje insulting her name and then kissing her on the mouth. In a weird way, the mean things she was saying didn’t seem hostile. She’d been smiling the whole time, it was more like she just casually disrespects all women out of habit.

This put Ricki in a predicament, would it be seen as “feminist” if she failed to disrespect Sharaje in return, or was she obligated to submit to her as a superior? When in doubt, she defaulted to being nice. “That’s a very pretty name.”

“Thanks, it means butthole. That’s my best feature.” Sharaje turned around to reveal that the jeans she was wearing were actually a very fashionable garment Ricki would later learn were called “Spreaders.” The middle section of the back was cut out, with the remaining fabric held up with what seemed to be some kind of adhesive attaching them to her butt cheeks. The laces she’d noticed on the front now made sense, as they allowed Sharaje to tighten the front of the garment in order to spread her ass apart, ensuring that her anus was perpetually on display. And while Ricki hadn’t made it a habit of admiring other girl’s assholes, she had to admit, Sharaje’s was remarkably pretty. Flawlessly clean-looking, lightly-tanned skin led to a tiny muscular pucker.

“It looks like a virgin’s huh? Can you believe I get buttfucked like ten times a day?”

She couldn’t believe it. Ten times a day?? She’d heard that women in the outside world were treated like sex objects, but surely Sharaje was exaggerating.

“So… umm, they said you were assigned to be my mentor or something? They didn’t really explain much.”

Sharaje turned to face her again, “Yeah, they told me you were in some kind of fucked-up chastity cult and-” She stopped mid-sentence to deliver a sharp slap across Ricki’s face. “Hey! Stare at my tits when I’m talking to you!”

Ricki was stunned, but obeyed, turning her eyes to stare intently at the perky nipples straining against the tight, plum colored fabric as she continued.

“So anyway, they thought I’d be good at de-programming all the stuff your ugly, feminist cunt-mom and her cult friends taught you because I’m captain of the bullying squad here.”

“Bullying squad? What’s-”

Ricki was interrupted by a twenty-something statuesque blonde woman who entered and stood at the front of the class. “Okay, sluts,” she announced with a serious expression, “Class is starting, so get your sexy teenage asses in your seats.” The girls scattered around the room casually made their way to desks. Sharaje indicated at a seat directly in front of her where Ricki was to sit.

The teacher’s face turned to a look of shameful resignation as she introduced herself, “I’m Miss Fartface, please feel welcome to fart in my face because I love the smell and taste of dirty teen girl assholes.” Her voice was mechanical, as though forced to read from a script. The students laughed at her.

Ricki felt Sharaje’s breath on her ear as she whispered, “She’s actually straight, and a major germaphobe. Her owner makes her act like she’s obsessed with face-fucking our shitters to humiliate her.”

The teacher went on, now speaking more naturally, “I understand we have a new student joining us today.” she said looking at Ricki; or more accurately, at her tits, “Would the new cunt please come to the front of the class and introduce herself?”

Ricki’s heart was beating in her throat, but she made her way to the front of the room on shaky legs. All the other girls appeared to be staring at her body judgmentally; she’d never felt more on display.

“M- my name is R-Ricki,” she began unsteadily. She could already see a lot of the other girls in class openly showing disgust at her name. “My stupid feminist mom cunt gave me that name… umm, I grew up in a… a fucked-up chastity cult… and that was bad? But now I’m going to try to learn how to not be a dumb feminist, and to be a good girl, like all of you?”

She looked out at the rows of desks hoping to see a glimmer or approval, she was trying to hard to assimilate to their world, but it seemed so unfamiliar to her.

A sudden voice from the back of the room broke the silence, “Hey, show us your pussy!” It was Sharaje. She wasn’t sure what she should do. Was it just an obscene jeer that she could ignore? Several seconds of silence passed. Ricki looked around to see expectant faces. She tried to go on as though nothing had happened. “I look forward to making a lot of new friend-”

“Ricki, you’ve been given a command.” The teacher stated flatly. She couldn’t believe this was real. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t have been so bad. It was a room full of girls, after all. But Ricki was getting the distinct impression that the other girls were waiting to mock and criticize her most private areas. What was worse was that it appeared that one of the other classes had let out recently, and the courtyard just past the floor-to-ceiling windows was filling up with students of both genders who could easily see into the classroom.

“Are you fucking retarded? If I have to ask again, I’m going to strip you naked myself and have every girl in class fist you. At the same time.” Sharaje had a certain authority to her words that made her believe the threat wasn’t hollow.

Ricki lifted the hem of her dress high enough that she could pin it to her chest with her chin, then hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and pulled them to the floor to reveal a rather unkempt patch of fur between her legs.

She heard a few of the girls pointedly making noises of disgust at the sight of her ungroomed bush, but before anyone could articulate an insult, an Asian girl cosplaying some slutty anime character spoke up.

“Hey, what’s that weird diaper thing she was wearing under her dress?” For a brief moment, Ricki’s humiliation was replaced with confusion. Diaper thing?

“They’re called panties,” the teacher began, “They’re not very common anymore, but before the Virus, almost all women wore them under their clothes. Nowadays, they’re mostly worn when men dress up girls in historically accurate costumes.”

“Wait,” a different girl chimed in, “Wouldn’t cunts need to take them off every time they got fucked?”

“Oh!” Yet another girl began, “Girls used to get, like, pussy-diseases back then, huh? I bet those pantie-thingies used to be, like, a code so that everyone would know that a girl was just for face-fucking, right?”

“That’s a good guess, Ditzy, but no.” Miss Fartface explained. “Actually, before the Virus, the average girl went weeks or months without being fucked. By some reports, certain women actually went years.” A few of the students looked shocked or saddened.

Ricki wanted to cover her naked crotch during this exchange, but dared not cover herself without permission.

“But didn’t they get sick and die if they didn’t get fucked everyday???” Ditsy asked.

“She’s talking about before the Virus, stupid!” A nerdy looking girl in a too-small school-girl outfit said condescendingly to Ditsy. “I read that girl’s used to live as long as men, but hardly any of them got to have sex more than a few times a week.”

“Oh my god! Did men used to be, like, super mean in the old days?!?” Ditzy exclaimed.

“That’s enough, cunts.” The teacher said, quieting the chatter. “Actually, men have always been kind enough to fuck us, and at many points in history, they tried to create societies to put women in our proper place where we could be happy as servants and fucktoys; However, these men endured abuse and harassment at the hands of feminists who believed that cunts deserved to be equal to men.”

Sharaje raised her hand.

“Yes, Sharaje?”

“How did they think cunts could be equal? I mean, everything I do is to please men. The way I talk, the way I eat, the way I dress. I abuse other cunts because it gets me attention from men. So if feminists somehow didn’t care about pleasing men, than why do anything? Did they just want to lay in the dirt until they die? What’s the purpose of a cunt even existing if she doesn’t please anyone? It’s not like girls can get pleasure without men.”

The blonde teacher just shrugged, “I’m sorry, but I really don’t know. It’s true that the health and happiness of cunts is conditional upon their ability to serve and please the superior sex; and that’s been explained to feminists many times throughout history, but somehow they were too stupid to even understand that simple fact. It’s why the Sodom Virus was such a godsend. Who knows how long it would have taken society to progress to where we are today without it. And while we’re on the topic of pleasing men, why don’t we all go around the room and mention one way that our new student here could improve her fuckhole?”

With that, the classes attention was back on Ricki, or more accurately, their attention was on her exposed genitals. The teacher went down each row.

“It’s way too hairy. Some men like that, but she needs to at least trim it properly.”

“Her pussy-lips are too big, she needs to get those trimmed, too.”

“Also, do you see how dark they are?! Look really close, her whole pussy is a darker color than the rest of her. It’s so fucking disgusting!”

“It should be puffier. Puffy pussies like mine are super cute. Hers isn’t cute at all.

“She needs to spread her legs more; She doesn’t even know how to show her fuckhole correctly!”

“Well her thighs are so short and fat, even if she did spread, you can barely even see her pussy through all the flab.”

“I don’t think we talked about her cuntlips enough. They’re wrinkly, too. It’s super gross, it looks like she stuffed roast beef in her twat and some of it’s coming out.”

“It looks like it smells bad, too.”

“Oh my god, you’re, like, so totally right! I don’t want to get close enough, but it looks like it’d smell like dead fish!”

“It wouldn’t even be sexy to make a girl eat her out. A man would only make me lick her pussy if he was punishing me!”

The onslaught of humiliating insults wasn’t even half over, and Ricki was already openly bawling. The girls seemed indifferent to her tears as they continued hurling deeply personal jabs about her most intimate area while she was forced to display herself. She could barely see through the tears, but she could still tell that there was a small cluster of boys and girls looking through the window and giggling to one another as they observed the degrading ritual.

Thankfully, it was nearly over. Sharaje was the last one to comment on her parts.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t even call that thing between her legs a pussy. There’s no way it could ever please anyone. If I were her, I’d just get the whole thing cut off and sew up the hole. Better to be a two-hole whore than to make men look at something that fucking ugly.”

Somehow, Sharaje’s comment hurt the worst. Being taught that her primary reason for existing in this world was to get fucked, and then being told that the hole created solely for that purpose was worthless devastated her. It made her feel like a failure as a woman.

Ricki made her way back to the empty seat in front of Sharaje and wept quietly as the teacher spent the next few minutes explaining the intricacies of female humiliation and degradation. Focusing mainly on their necessity to inoculate against the threat of feminism. She used the verbal hazing Ricki had just endured as an example multiple times throughout the lecture.

Eventually the teacher segued into explaining their assignment for the upcoming week. “You are each going to be given two cards, one of them is going to have a fetish that will degrade, dehumanize, and/or objectify you. The other card will have your enjoyment level of the fetish; categorized as reluctant, eager, or desperate. Each of you is to sincerely live and embody your assigned fetish with your assigned enjoyment level for the next week. And for those of you who choose “reluctant,” you still need to make every available attempt to fulfill your new fetish, even though it humiliates or disgusts you!” she finished with a smile. Miss Fartface seemed to have plenty of experience being forced to live out a fetish she hated, so perhaps the smile was due to a certain sense of sadism at getting to have her students do the same.

“Sharaje, you went last when we were shaming Ricki for her ugly cunt-hole, why don’t you go first this time and show the other girls how to properly announce their new fetishes to the class.”

“Sure! But since you’re not going to be using your tongue to lecture, you really should be using it to clean all of our assholes, don’t you think? I mean, that is your favorite thing in the world, isn’t it??

The teacher’s smile faded and she stared daggers at the middle-eastern beauty. “Yes, of course.” She said in a reluctant monotone, “I’d love to shove my tongue in each and every one of your dirty teen assholes.”

“And?” Sharaje pushed with a sadistic grin.

The older woman sighed, “And thank you again for making me follow you to the bathroom last week so that you could use my tongue as toilet paper, Sharaje. I can never thank you enough for allowing me to use my ugly old tongue to lick the shit from your perfect, young asshole. I beg you to please let me do it again as soon as possible, and as often as possible.” Miss Fartface was almost sneering in disgust at the memory, but at the same time, there was no way she could refuse to humiliate herself while teaching a class on female humiliation. Sharaje delighted at the torment as she skipped to the front of the class where the blonde woman grimaced as she forced her tongue inside the pristine teen anus.

Sharaje flipped over the cards assigned to her and her face lit up. “Yes! I got the best one!” She looked out at the other girls in class with a toothy smile and even waved to some of the students out past the window to come closer to hear.

“So I know I’ve never mentioned this before, but it’s actually probably my biggest kink. I’ve always had this fantasy of getting fucked by dogs while a lot of people watch. And I mean, like, a LOT of people. The way I picture it, everybody has their camera phones out and they’re getting good shots of dog-cock in my pussy and ass. Maybe videos of me sucking a dog’s dick straight out of my butthole. Definitely get my face in the picture, and post it online with my name and ID number. I want everyone to know forever that I’m a dog-fucker. It should be the first picture that comes up anytime someone searches for me online. I seriously want it to follow me around for the rest of my life. I’m super glad I got an “eager” card for this, because there’s no way I could be reluctant, it’s just… Oh my god, it’s just the hottest fucking thing to think about, I almost came as soon as I turned the card over.”

She finished by roughly yanking the teacher’s face from between her butt-cheeks and returning to her seat. The next girl took her place at the front of the class and explained her fetish while being rimmed by the teacher. Ricki wasn’t exactly sure if all the girls were acting like they loved the fetishes they were supposed to love and hated the ones they were supposed to hate, or if the teacher was just nice enough to make things easy on them. Either way, she learned a variety of things about the strange, horrible, and disgusting acts that some people seem to fetishize.

Finally it was her turn. She timidly made her way up to the front of the class. She gasped slightly when the teacher lifted the hem of her dress, pulled down her panties to began tongue-fucking her ass. Even though she’d seen it happen to about two dozen girls before her, she still wasn’t totally prepared for it.

She turned over her cards one at a time. “Reluctant” was written on the first. Good, she thought, at least she wouldn’t need to pretend to like whatever horrible thing she had to say she was into. She turned the other card over and her heart sank. Tears once again began to well up in her eyes.

Without looking up, she began, “Hi… so my fetish, which I love, is having my pussy destroyed, and made even uglier than it already is. I want… I…” She broke down and heaved heavy tears for several seconds before she could continue. The teacher being forced to tongue-rape her up the ass didn’t relent. “I want my vagina so totally destroyed that it can never bring me pleasure. So that I can be denied orgasms for the rest of my life, and so that my pussy gets so ugly that no one would ever think of fucking it ever again.”

She tried to control her weeping while she rushed back to her desk. The teacher said that this concluded first period and that they could socialize while waiting for their next class. Sharaje wasted no time and was already being sodomized by a boy who’d been waiting outside. Another girl was on her knees letting a man piss in her mouth through the strangely low windows. Ricki seemed to have figured out the purpose for their unusual placement now.

Everything going on around her was so obscene, it was like the men in this world regarded them as little more than masturbation toys. Was she really never going to get to go back to her old life? Was she really going to have to ask people to destroy her vagina so that she could never have another orgasm? Everything was already so horrible and it was only just the end of first period!

#sodomvirus sodomviruschronicles #sodomvirus

431 notes · View notes

fandom-necromancer · 4 years

Text

045. Part 2

As said, this is a three-parter and the warnings apply to all parts. Only the bold ones to this part. I promise it will end well in the last(?) next part! (You know me I never let it end bad!)

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900, Hannor/Hankon | AU: reverse AU (Warnings: android being shipped off to Cyberlife for analysis of deviancy, loss of privacy, loss of control, most think the android is dead, grieving character, trauma because of past mistakes, canon-typical violence)

[part1] [part3] [part4]

The precinct was as silent as ever that day. No one dared to say a single word out loud. Maybe there were whispers where necessary, but mostly it was dead quiet. After Richard had come back yesterday, he had gone straight back to Connor’s and Hank’s desk and pulled the android out of his chair. There was a screaming match between Connor and Richard as the stronger, taller twin pushed Hank against a wall, punching him straight into the regulator. Hank’s calmness and lack of reaction only made Richard more furious about it all and his attacks more intense. Connor tried pulling him away, only to earn a fist on his eye, too. It was Fowler who forced him to stop, standing on the stairs to his office, threatening Richard with a disciplinary and suspension. Connor had doubted this to hold his brother back, but he had let Hank go and marched back to his desk in silence.

Connor didn’t file a complaint and Hank wasn’t damaged enough to get him for it, so Richard wasn’t suspended. Still the next day he didn’t come to work, apparently ill. Connor was conflicted. He could understand Richard’s reaction and he worried for his well-being but throwing his fists around was not a good way to handle this. As much as Connor himself hated Hank for it, he still was just a machine. He wasn’t deviant. He followed his orders. No matter how wrong they were, who gave them initially was at fault, not Hank.

Connor couldn’t take this any longer. There was a familiar itch in his hand and his head was too busy for him. Only a few hours in, everything was already pressing down on him and he longed for a bottle to wash it all away. He knew it wasn’t healthy, he knew it was a bad thing to do, but he just couldn’t help it. ‘Fuck it’, he mumbled under his breath, shutting off his terminal. ‘I’m going.’ ‘Where to, Lieutenant?’, the android asked, but he was already walking away. ‘I’m going.’

Hank stayed at work without informing anyone of Connor’s absence. It wasn’t necessary as they had no running mission and as it had turned out a deviant hadn’t been among the gang-members but their very own precinct, he was left without a task. ‘Hey, there has been a homicide reported. Eden-club. Some Sex-club downtown. You… errr… where’s Connor?’ ‘You can give me the details; I’ll brief him once he’s back from the restroom.’ A lie. Not the best of options but acceptable as long as he did find Connor and followed the mission. ‘Yeah sure. I’ll upload it to your terminal then.’

Hank had checked Jimmy’s bar with no luck and was now driving to Connor’s house, hoping to find him there. No one answered as he rang the doorbell, but that didn’t mean Connor wasn’t home. As he went around the house, he could see the man lying on the floor unconscious. So, he did the reasonable thing breaking in and slapping him awake. ‘Connor, we got a case.’ ‘Fffffuck off, ya damn android!’ ‘Don’t think I can do that. You are intoxicated and I need you. I’ll sober you up for your own safety, Lieutenant.’ ‘Ya ain’t gonna do shit, ya hear me? You did enough already!’ Regardless of Connor’s words, he hoisted him up and pulled him to the bathroom pushing him under ice-cold water. Finally, that pulled him out of it. ‘Hank? What the fuck are you doing here?’ ‘We have a case. A homicide reported 43 minutes ago.’ ‘Shit. They’ll give me so much shit for leaving…’ ‘I don’t think they realised.’ ‘Why?’ ‘I told them you were off to the bathroom.’ ‘For four hours?’ Hank shrugged. ‘They didn’t seem to notice you leaving.’ ‘And you lied to them?’ ‘I can lie if it helps me archieve my mission.’ ‘I wish you could have lied yesterday.’ ‘About what?’ ‘Oh, fuck off, would’ya? Go get me some clothes, I’ll be up in a minute.’

They drove to the Eden-club in silence and Hank only half-way spoke up: ‘Connor? Can I ask you a question?’ ‘Of fucking course.’ ‘I only follow my mission. I am expected to follow my mission. I am made to obey. Yet me detecting an android amidst us as a deviant made you and your brother angry. What did I do wrong?’ ‘Hank, you… You did nothing wrong. But your mission may be wrong. I wouldn’t say all these androids rebelling and running away from their jobs and murdering people are good things. But that GV200? He was content working here. Deviant or not wouldn’t have made a difference. He loved my brother. He saved him. I can’t see what is wrong with that.’ ‘He wasn’t supposed to be this way. He was supposed to obey. He didn’t. That is wrong.’ ‘Okay, let me tell you from experience: Orders are not always perfect. Someone gives you an order thinking about all eventualities and meaning good. But in the end when you are there yourself, you might see something the one who gave that order didn’t expect. And then you should evaluate it yourself, not just blindly follow it.’ ‘But that would be against protocol.’ ‘If Gavin followed protocol my brother would be dead. And we got the perp anyways. So, he did the right thing.’ ‘He disobeyed’, Hank disagreed. ‘That can be the same thing’, Connor sighed and put on the radio to stop any further argument.

Investigating the crime at the Eden-club quickly got messier than thought. Hank managed to trace the blue-haired Tracy easily, but once he found her it was a blur of fast preconstruction and programmed responses. Connor was fighting a second android, but they both were remarkably competent, and Hank had to concentrate on his android completely. Somehow, they ended up outside, Hank jumping up from where he had fallen, gun in hand and aiming for the blue-haired Tracy. He could shoot. He could spare her. She was a deviant. Connor’s words were still in his head, otherwise he would have shot without hesitance. Sometimes disobeying and doing the right thing is the same. He loved him. Before he knew he had decided, the moment of choice had passed and the Tracy backed up, explaining herself. Hank was still overwhelmed, his software instability messing with his system. Why hadn’t he shot? Had he disobeyed? He watched them get away and flinched, when Connor sighed and turned to leave. ‘Maybe it’s better this way.’

The next weeks Richard had come back to work. But he was the shadow of the man he once had been. He wasn’t focussed on work, Connor often found him staring off into the distance. When he did work it was sloppy and not as thoroughly as in the past. He had been assigned a new partner at the end of the week and Connor had expected it to go to shit. But Richard was civil with the TI300 and they formed an efficient team. But it wasn’t like before. Richard was wasting away. His formerly neat and tidy appearance slacked, his hair was greasy and dishevelled and his favourite form of communication were a series of variating grunts. Connor couldn’t remember when the last time had been his brother smiled. Ever since Hank found him collapsed in his kitchen the android had apparently decided to take care of him as much as he was allowed, annoying him into eating properly and to stay away from the alcohol as much as possible. It didn’t do shit, he was still drunk most days, but he felt awful about it afterwards. Seeing Richard now slowly spiral into the same shithole, was an entirely different thing.

He wanted to help his brother, be there for him, but work quickly came in between him and his plans. More and more cases of deviancy arose and it was spreading like an illness. With Marcus protesting in the streets and it all being as peaceful as it could be, it got out of hand pretty fast. Detroit felt more and more like a forming warzone and less like a city. People fled to relatives outside the city or took a vacation. With the coming winter the streets were empty and everyone full of concern. Richard wasn’t able to work anymore. He couldn’t act against deviants and as the order came for SWAT to clear the streets and put all androids into holding camps, he refused as he was asked to join them. He requested leave from the police afterwards and only a lot of coaxing from Connor’s side let him give in to staying at his place. Whenever he came home now, Richard would be sitting on his couch huddled in a blanket and watching the news, their enormous dog Sumo in his lap. The dog wasn’t allowed there normally, but Connor couldn’t bring himself to telling Richard this. He needed comfort, so to hell with the state of the cushions. At least he didn’t drink. Richard had always been one to only drink on special occasions and maybe that saved him from wrecking his body even more. Some nights Connor could hear him cry in the living room and whenever Hank accompanied Connor home, he didn’t speak a word.

He still believed Gavin was alive. Connor saw the hope in his eyes when one of Marcus’ marches was covered by the news. He could see his hurt whenever another shooting of androids had been mentioned. He could see his anger when Cyberlife was interviewed. Connor wanted it to be true. That the GV200 was stored away in some lab and no matter what had been done to him, that at least he was still alive. He wanted that Marcus was successful. He wanted it all so badly. But he didn’t believe it.

He didn’t believe it, until it happened.

The androids were singing, the President had called the army off and Richard…

Richard was smiling.

[>next part]

25 notes · View notes

raeloganthesonic06fangirl · 4 years

Note

What is one aspect of Quackerjack’s character that you feel should be/have been expanded upon?

This is a bit of a tricky question to answer and narrow down to one specific aspect. QuackerJack himself is a relatively mysterious character outside of what we've been shown, and is probably the only member of the Fearsome Five to not have any origin story episode at all throughout the original series. Yes, even Liquidator, a character who doesn't have even half the screen time as a majority of minor recurring characters (a crime, really, I feel like Liquidator is one of the most underutilized characters of the franchise, especially when his powers have the most devastating potential), has an origin episode.

Liquidator fell in a vat of chemicals while trying to poison the water supply, Megavolt got fried with electricity because of a school bully, Bushroot conducted experiments on himself to impress a colleague he was smitten with, and Negaduck is an alternate form of Darkwing who has almost no inhibitions whatsoever.

QuackerJack... supposedly lost his mind after a bad chain of events and stress that he blames on the encroachment of the then growing video game industry, but we also know that QuackerJack has a tendency to be contradictory and is also a genius lunatic who doesn't experience the world the way its presented. Can we trust all the information we've gotten from him? The franchise overall hints that recalls could have played a part in his business going under, but it also makes it clear that he went absolutely bonkers with quality control and continues to push products that are clearly hazardous and are a safety regulations nightmare. Explosive, unreasonably sticky, sharp edges, bear trap mechanisms, built in flamethrowers, animatronic toys with retractable claws, bone crunching, even nuclear components. QuackerJack is like Willy Wonka with toys. He's a mad genius, emphasis on "mad".

But we never got a concrete backstory to how and why he is as he is.

Also, other things I'd liked to have seen expanded upon would be, but not limited to:

Where was and what happened to the old QuackerJack Toys™ Factory, and if the salvaged bits were what QuackerJack used to create his Toy Kingdom in "Toys Czar Us", like, there's assembly lines and factory machines there, but that's all underground, so did he rescue what he could before the city condemned the building or what??

Did he always wear that hat, or did that become a thing after his descent into madness? Like, did he run the company as a plain clothes civilian once upon a time, and then just showed up to a meeting one day dressed as a jester and his staff just noped out of there or what?

For that matter, does he ever actually take that hat off willingly, or is this a Jervis Tetch situation where he becomes completely unresponsive and overestimulated the longer that hat is off his head?

Really, who was he before he took on the persona of QuackerJack? I don't mean like if that's really his name or not, I mean who was he, and how much of that personality remains intact at his core.

Does he not have any relatives that have filed a missing persons report on his civilian identity, or is he the only one of his kin in Calisota? Has his family completely disowned him, or are they not aware of what he's become? If his parents aren't around (based on my estimates, they could be somewhere in thier 60s or above), then surely he has siblings or cousins or something. A lifelong family friend? A parental figure? A mentor? Did anyone who was familial with him at all know what happened to him?

Does everyone in St. Canard over the age of 20 just happen to know who he really is because of his prior life, or is his identity really as mysterious as his profile reports claim? Is he not a St. Canard native, like, did he spend his youth in St. Canard or did he just show up to town one day as a young entrepreneur and built his toy business from the ground up, or did he inherit it as a family business thing? He's gotta be at least 40ish by the time the series starts, since Megavolt and Darkwing are confirmed to be age 38 by the end of the series, so that's an entire chunk of lifetime that could be factors in what made him what he is today

Really, what's the real reason his company tanked? He says he was the greatest Toy Maker in the world, he insists on it, he's even made himself a mug and makes that his defining trait, but he somehow cracked because something new came around? Either there was more to the whole Whiffle Boy thing, or he messed up somewhere in his products that caused a massive disaster with casualties, and he can't rationalize that he had something to do with his failure. He's a canonical hypocrite and will lie on the fly to save his own butt while in a pinch, so I don't think we can 100% take his own explanation as gospel truth. I feel like video games are only part of the reason he went bankrupt, but he just won't admit that he made a mistake on his part.

His time while employed at QuackWerks, specifically the gradual decline as when he began to realize that he was assigned to be a cog in the machine.

Also, his relationship with Claire. I really am intrigued to see how that specific time chunk went, because it's interesting to think that he had a period of time where he was genuinely trying to turn over a new leaf and was relatively functioning for a specific amount of time before falling back on his old ways. The only real hint we got was, quote Claire: "He can be really sweet when he wants to be." which can either be interpreted as him being at his most vulnerable around her, or, more darkly, could have been a precursor warning sign that he was resurfacing his old traits and putting on a facade.

Where the heck was he during "Crisis on Infinite Darkwings", and did he or did he not witness the towering behemoth that was an amalgamation of Negaduck and Paddywhack rising up out of the ground at any point? I know he broke out of prison and left a freaky doll replica in his cot, but he could have been out at the time Negawhack was a thing, and how did he respond to that visual, since this is a fusion of two individuals who have tainted Mr. Banana Brain for him? Did he just nope all the way to Duckburg until everything blow over, or what, because the streets are crawling with a lot of Darkwings too, did no one see QuackerJack at all, his jester costume is very colorful, and if he was in prison garb, I'd say an orange jumpsuit is very noticeable in such a drab city in ruins.

That whole thing about that last sighting of him in the Joe Books Revival comics, where the entire layout of the lair strongly hints that he was prepping to launch an attack on the St. Canard Toy Expo the following week, and the schematics and disjointed notes and the strong implications that he was singing to himself while prepping was really making me feel like this was going to be like a Toy With Me 2.0 scenario and it would take to long for me to explain that entirely, but I just... Imagine like the feel of the tail end of "The Killing Joke", and just... Hrmph, we were robbed, yo.

Overall, I really wish more was expanded on with who he was, not who he is now.

Granted, the mysterious nature makes for good fodder for fan content that allows a lot of us to create interesting ideas and all are equally valid theories... But I'm very much interested in QuackerJack Pre-QuackerJacked.

15 notes · View notes

slit-the-rasceta · 5 years

Text

For you, I’ll stay | I : The Hill

written by — @hardskzhours // @slit-the-rasceta

Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency, Jongno-gu District. January 9, 1996, Tuesday. 22:30 hrs.

“It’s going to be a long night,” she thought, while fixing her desk for the fifth time. There was a haphazard pile of file folders, an unboxed diskette pack, and coffee cup stains all over her table calendar. She quickly reorganizes the file folders, placing them in chronological order, then according to crime. Then, she matches the diskettes (which contain additional data such as interrogation footage) with each pile. Lastly, she makes her way to the pantry to refill her mug with coffee, humming along to a tune that was receiving more airplay recently.

It was an uneventful night, to say the least. As usual, she worked overtime, working on organising the paperwork and records of each case—from instigation to case management. She loved it initially, but now that she’s six months into this new assignment, she could feel herself wearing down with how emotionally, physically and mentally taxing everything is. It wasn’t so much the quantity or frequency of the load, but the content itself.

Seeing death, rape, theft and disappearances on a daily basis was starting to take a toll on her mental health, and even if she learned how to compartmentalize, there was something about seeing all the details that made her sleep less and less these days. The photos of dead bodies or visages of crying relatives would disturb her to no end, and having to type out each case report even if it meant tagging it as a cold case, was something that never really sat well with her.

Her direct senior, the only female Inspector in the agency—the only one who is actually nice, unlike the rest of the police force who talk about her during lunch breaks and agency dinners—tell her that the feeling of being “uninvolved” and “useless” will soon pass. “Besides,” she tells her during one of the rare nights that they’re both doing overtime, “You’ve got potential.”

She sighs, wary of the compliment. “I just… I wish I could be doing more, sunbae.”

“You’ll have your fair share of fieldwork and interrogations, Yuna.” she says, patting the younger girl’s shoulder. “Just keep working well, and the Chief will soon see your potential.”

That last line resonated with her the most. She knew that the Chief was a firm leader—he did routine inspections, called people in his office to ask for status reports and he’d set all sorts of deadlines. But he was also known for being experienced in reading people just with one look.

So the question was, what was his assessment of her?

Did the Chief view her just like how the rest of the agency did—an Assistant Inspector who was only fit for clerical work even if she had graduated at the top of her class? Did he even notice her presence in the building—or was she too conscious of all the judgmental stares thrown her way because she was the first female recruit in a long while?

That was it, she thought, not noticing that her cup had overflowed.

With a sharp curse, she flung her hand away from the scalding beverage, and moved to grab some tissues—her mind thoroughly forgetting the questions that had darted in her mind not a minute ago.

“SMPA, what is your concern?” she asks, voice surprisingly level. When there wasn’t a response, she asks again, this time a notch louder.

“Kidnapping,” the voice cuts through the radio silence, its texture a rich timbre with a raspy undertone. Caught off guard at the mention of a kidnapping, she scrambles for a notepad and a pen. “23:00, 804-1, The Hill, Hannam-dong, Yongsan-gu. Kim Jiho.” In hastily written script, she takes note of the details, not once interrupting the man on the line.

“Who is this? Where is your intel from?” she finally asks, after she hears mere breathing sounds. “Hello?”

“The victory song is undefeated.” he says, and with a finality that sent shivers down her spine, the line dies.

“Wha—“ she exhales, overwhelmed with the situation. It wasn’t unheard of for random tips to come in the station, that much was true. But a tip at this time? And with that much detail? She was wary enough that there wasn’t any crime traffic recently but this is proving to be the suspicious exception.

Shaking off her doubts, she dials the home number of Inspector Park, the head of the patrol and public safety unit. She knows he’ll definitely give her an earful for calling at such a late hour—and to his house no less, but if what the man said was true, and if her gut was right, someone was after the daughter of the Minister of National Defense.

At the sixth ring, he picks up and greets her with a litany of questions. “Who is this? Do you have any idea what time it is? Whoever you are, you better have a damn good reason for waking me up!” he rattles off, temper flaring.

“This is Lee Yuna, sir.” she says, surprised at how stable her voice was. “Assistant Inspec—“

“Ah, the personal assistant.” his tongue clicks, and even if she didn’t see, she knew he was shaking his head. “What is it? Here to ask help again in records-keeping?”

But now wasn’t the time to do that.

“No, sir.” she starts, fisting her hand. “There’s been an emergency call to the patrol and public service hotline. A tip was given about a kidnapping at The Hill—“

“Let me stop you right there.” he expels a deep breath, clearly uninterested with her report. “You do know what the Hill is, right? Or do you not even know where it is?”

“It’s in Yongsan-gu. Where the Ministry of National Defense is.” she says, foregoing the other details and taking the opportunity to transition to the most important part. “Sir, you see, this could actually mean that—“

“This means that there is no kidnapping. I mean, if you’re trying to pull a joke, it’s a terrible one. Hell, there’s hardly any crime in that area!” he gives a dry laugh. “That’s The Hill, it’s an executive residential area, guarded and all that. As you said, National Defense is there and so are diplomats and expats. No one in their right mind would attempt a kidnapping, let alone a break-and-entry.”

“But the caller gave a name, possibly that of the victim. We should send a team, I have the address. I could lead the—“ again, he cuts her off. At this point, a vein was threatening to pop at how unprofessional he was being, but she’d rather not break out into an argument with her direct senior—especially when he was clearly already annoyed at her.

“So this is why you really called, huh?” he chuckles. “Look, no one knows how you got in, or what strings you pulled to pass the Academy, but at the rate you’re going, you’ll never lead a team—much less my team.” the certainty in his voice washed over her, causing her to remain silent at his blatant jibe. “So go back to whatever you’re doing and don’t even attempt to call me or anyone from the agency to waste their time with your tall tales.” the other line clicks, ending their phone call.

Exasperated, she puts down the receiver with a little too much force than was necessary. “Fine, I’ll do it myself.” she mutters, putting on her coat, muffler and grabbing her car keys.

30 minutes. She’ll have to pray that she makes it. After all, she doesn’t have much time.

—

804-1, The Hill, Hannam-dong, Yongsan-gu. The Kim Residence. 23:00 hrs.

The gate to the subdivision alone rendered her speechless. Pure brass balusters and a towering guardhouse greeted her, complete with intimidating security personnel who wasted no time in asking for her identification.

“Assistant Inspector Lee, from the SMPA. We received a tip about criminal activity taking place in the vicinity of this subdivision,” she starts, not giving any specific details. “This won’t take long.” she adds, as a last ditch effort to convince them that she means business.

“Alright,” one of the guards lets her through. As she rolled up her window, she catches a muffled dialogue between the two. “Isn’t she a little too young to be an Inspector? And criminal activity? Talk about absurd.”

Scoffing, she speeds up to the address the caller gave and in a few minutes, pulled up in the driveway of the Kim Residence. But she was too late. There, standing by the facade of the house, was the Minister himself, with blood on his hands and a shell-shocked expression.

“My daughter…” she hears him mutter. From within the house, she hears distant voices screaming for someone to call the police. “Dial the police! Or call the National Defense for all I care! Someone do something!” the voice got louder as she linked it with a face—Kim Jisook, the Minister’s wife. As if seeing the police lights atop her car, both husband and wife felt their knees give way.

She makes haste to catch the both of them before they fall, and as she does, she gets her shirt stained with blood, and scrapes her elbow with the force of their weight. Not minding the sting of the wind blowing by her scraped skin, she pulls out her walkie-talkie, and radios the police patrolling Seoul that night.

“This is Assistant Inspector Lee Yuna, does anyone copy?” she starts, practically shouting. For some reason, she felt an adrenaline rush at the development of events. “Repeat, this is Assistant Inspector Lee Yuna, does anyone copy?”

After a few beats, a voice breaks through the white noise. “This is Inspector Minho, copy. What’s your 10-13?”

“I’ve got a two zero seven.” she says, forgetting that she hadn’t even scouted the area for verification that a kidnapping actually took place. “10-8 at 804-1, The Hill, Hannam-dong, Yongsan-gu. Send a medic for shock treatment.” she rattles off, surprised at herself for actually being able to focus and act given the situation.

Then again, this was her job. Her first fieldwork—albeit unwarranted and unapproved.

“Copy that, 10-4. I’ll run code. ETA twenty minutes.” he affirms his direct response before ending the dispatch call.

—

804-1, The Hill, Hannam-dong, Yongsan-gu. The Kim Residence. 23:20 hrs.

After twenty minutes, two police cars pull up the driveway. One belonged to Inspector Minho, the other was the patrol for back-up. He closes the gap between them in five, quick strides, hands in his coat’s pockets.

“What happened?” he asks, ready for a briefing.

“There’s nothing definitive yet…” she trails off, mentally berating herself for not even scouting the interior to study the scene. “But I’ve spoken to the family.”

“You mean you’ve spoken to the Minister of National Defense.” he supplies, his breath fogging up in front of him. “What did he say?”

“The family heard screaming coming from the garage, and when he came down to check,” hesitant, she clears her throat as a stalling method. “He found her daughter bruised and bloodied, unconscious. According to him, she was forced to inhale ether, and her hands were tied.”

“Attempted kidnapping?” he asks, stealing a glance at the mansion’s façade.

“High chance for it.” she answers, clearing her throat again. “Listen, Inspector, I received a tip in the agency around an hour ago—saying something about a kidnapping taking place at this time, at this exact address.”

He raises his eyebrows, evidently taken aback at this new piece of information. “And?” he asks, expectant.

“And I think this is a set-up.” she declares, sure of something for the first time that night. “Whoever is behind this, wanted us to come, thinking it was a kidnapping when it was an assault and break-and-entry.”

“What are you getting at, Lee?”

“There’s a reason why Ms. Jiho was assaulted and not kidnapped. They’re telling us something.” she says, handing out her notepad which contained the details of the emergency call a while back.

“승전가?” he reads, confusion etched all over his face. “What is this supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know… yet.” fuelled with conviction, she fists her hands at her sides, no longer feeling that sensation of helplessness or uselessness back in the agency when she was working on records-keeping. “But I’ll find out.”

—

51-7, Gocheog il-dong, Guro-gu, Seoul. Assistant Inspector Lee Yuna’s Residence. 02:00 hrs.

Finally back at her apartment after filing the case and sending off the Minister’s family with words of certainty about exhausting their whole force on the job, she slumps on the sofa, feeling her body become dead weight.

“God…” she sighs, fatigued. “That was a long night.”

41 notes · View notes

amillionmillionvoices · 6 years

Text

hicsqueak. / rated t for themes and content. / trigger warning: ptsd, implied emotional abuse, implied physical abuse, night terrors, dissociative episodes, panic attacks, implied suicide, and everything that happened to hecate in s2. / titles from carol ann duffy / enormous gratitude to @fraks, who has been my relentless cheerleader and support system; @cassiopeiasara, who listened to me whine about this a lot, and @atheneglaukopis for the beta!

somewhere, on the other side of this wide night

[part i]

She knows she’s dreaming.

The laughter is too thin, echoing unnaturally through the deserted hallways. There are footsteps, a song, off-key humming and flowers strewn on the floor. She feels compelled to pick them up, one by one, to carry them. She doesn’t know what she’s looking for, but she remembers this dream. Remembers what comes next.

It doesn’t prepare her, it never does. She knows that when she turns the corner, when she enters her potions lab, the room will be covered in ice. She knows she’ll find her girls, all her girls, frozen, immobile. Knows Ada will be waiting for her, disappointment etched in her features.

“Why didn’t you save them?”

Her answer is always the same. It’s all she can say, over and over: “I tried.”

Ada shakes her head, but when she speaks, it isn’t her voice.

“Foolish girl,” she says, doesn’t say; would never say, and Hecate knows but she can’t bring herself to believe it, not in the dream. Not with Ada’s eyes staring at her, Broomhead’s voice from her lips. “You failed them all.”

Hecate shakes her head, tries to protest, but something moves her forward, without her permission. Moves her to the center of the room, where it’s coldest. The ice pricks at her skin and she can feel her magic fading, dying inside her.

“Please, don’t,” she says, but Ada—Miss Broomhead—whoever she is, doesn’t listen.

“You don’t deserve magic,” she says, coming closer, closer, closer.

When Hecate opens her mouth to speak, she sings, some children’s song, though when she wakes, she never quite remembers the words.

“You don’t deserve to be here at all.”

“Ada—“ she tries, but the ice sets in, and she freezes. Her bones freeze, her veins, and all she can do is stare out from behind the frost as Mildred kneels in front of the stone. She tries to scream, to reach out, to stop her, but she can’t move, can’t speak, can’t do anything but watch as Mildred gives her magic away. As the stone glows orange. As she stands, and stares at Hecate with such sadness, such anger.

“It should have been you,” she says.

Let me fix it, she thinks desperately. Please, let me fix it. Let me out.

The ice thaws, but she still can’t move. The girls stare at her, laugh at her, sing at her.

“We liked you better the other way,” Enid says. “Why can’t you be someone else?”

Ada speaks, and it’s her own voice this time, resigned. “It’s no use, girls. She’ll never change.” Ada guides the girls to the door. “She’s set in her ways.”

I can change, she thinks, tries to say, to scream. I can be better. I’ll be better.

Ada looks back at her over her shoulder, and shakes her head. “It’s too late, dear.”

“Please don’t leave,” she manages, finally, words brittle and hoarse. “Don’t leave me here.”

Ada looks almost sympathetic as she disappears, along with her girls, and Hecate tries to follow, to transfer after them, to reach the door.

There’s a hand on her shoulder, claw-like.

Magic compels her to turn. Magic makes her stand straighter, taller. Magic makes her bow her head.

Magic betrays her.

“Good girl,” Miss Broomhead says.

Hecate shudders herself awake.

—

It’s still early when she decides she won’t be getting any more sleep, not yet four o’clock when she hauls herself out of bed. The castle is silent, empty. The girls are gone for the summer, and most of the staff have left, assured, for once, that the castle will be fine for the break.

Hecate isn’t so sure, but she has to admit that at least the spring term was relatively uneventful. Of course, they had their fair share of disasters, often Mildred Hubble-shaped, but as far as the safety and security of the school goes, nothing collapsed, no one tried to take over, nothing froze, and Hecate considers that good enough.

She’d like to keep it that way, to use the summer months to reorient herself after the disastrous year, to settle a bit, to possibly even relax.

But she knows that won’t be possible.

Not since Ada and Pippa came up with the brilliant idea to take some of the girls and Pippa’s students on a week-long camping trip over the break. Ada assured Hecate she wouldn’t need to attend, and as anxious as it made her to leave her best friend and… whatever she is to Pippa, alone together, another week with the girls in a small, secluded woodland area had sounded even worse.

But she’d helped Ada make arrangements, gathered consent forms and made lists of everything they’d need and reserved the cabin and developed an itinerary.

Ada had crossed off most of the academic work Hecate had created, insisting that this be a relaxing trip for everyone. No assignments, no marking. Just a week to make new friends, commune with nature, explore their magic, and have fun.

Hecate had scowled at that, but it wasn’t her trip, or her time being wasted, so she amended the plan as requested and thought that would be the end of it. That she’d have the castle to herself for a week. That no one would disturb her.

Finally.

Her almost-excitement over having time to decompress lasted all of four days, until Ada sheepishly admitted that she’d over-scheduled herself. That she was due at a conference in Germany that same week, and could Hecate take her place on the trip.

“Don’t you think Miss Drill would be better suited?”

Ada had taken a sip of tea to cover her grimace. “I did ask her,” she said, “Only because I assumed you’d be uninterested. She’s on holiday in Australia and won’t be back until term begins.”

Hecate had tried not to grit her teeth. “Is there no one else?”

Ada shook her head. “I’m afraid not.” She forced a too-wide smile. “I’m certain you’ll have a lovely time with Miss Pentangle.”

Hecate ignored the odd tone to her voice, and instead made preparations to join Pippa on the trip, despite her better judgement.

continued on ao3

#hicsqueak #hecate hardbroom #pippa pentangle #tww17

38 notes · View notes

jjk-emotrash · 6 years

Text

Blood and Gasoline - Chapter 8

Type: Mafia!AU

Group/s: Mainly BTS, Got7, Blackpink

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (OC), Jikook x Reader (OC)

Safety: NSFW

Warnings (Whole Fic): Swearing, Violence, Prostitution, Misogyny/Anti-Feminist Views, Torture, Smut, Non-Con/Rape, Death, SOME Fluff

Word Count: 3k

Masterlist

Days passed. The club reopened. Things felt as normal as they could for the events that had come to pass. Y/N found herself staying with the girls instead of at the mansion on multiple occasions, much to Yoongi's displeasure though he knew it was completely irrational to feel so. She was contented and comfortable despite her line of work, what more could he ask for? He knew that his answer would put her in the line of fire.

Days turn to weeks and Y/N had fundamentally moved into the dancers’ apartment, save for some clothes and a toothbrush. She enjoyed their company greatly; she didn’t feel as lonely, as trapped. It almost felt…normal. Contrarywise, not having her in the mansion at all times, where he could ensure her safety, drove Yoongi crazy. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the girls, he did. He knew that they wouldn’t harm her at all. Nonetheless, he couldn’t help the irksome voice in the back of his head that said she would be safer with him. Though he was more concerned about himself than anything else. Over the fortnight she had been living with the gang, she had become somewhat of an anchor for Yoongi. A safety net that he could fall back on when he was too tense or angry. She calmed him down significantly. After a month without her, the house fell apart. Yoongi was reverting back to old habits - getting increasingly more irritable, roaring at anyone that even slightly pissed him off, breaking things and staying up all night working became a part of his daily life once more. It was a miracle if he could get through the day without at the very least punching a wall.

He would still see her, of course. She still came to the mansion to practice with the girls and for training with Jackson, he saw her dancing at the club every night and then she would come and sit by his side in his private booth like the queen he knew she was – but it was getting harder and harder to let her go at the end of the night. On countless nights he had tried to convince her to come back to the mansion with him, enticing her with the promise of a movie before bed and if she was lucky maybe some cuddling. He knew it was futile. She was a confident and independent woman and it would take more than that to get her to stay with him a little longer. What was he in comparison to the dancers, her adoptive sisters, her new family?

It wasn’t just Yoongi that was having problems without Y/N gracing their presence. Jungkook still went out on the dangerous missions Yoongi assigned to him, more ruthless than ever, but he grew quieter and more contemplative. Every free moment was spent wracking his brain and trying to figure out why she didn’t want to be around him. Was it something he said? Something he did? Jimin and Yugyeom tried and tried to pull him out the funk he put himself in but, alas, despite all their best efforts, he was unmovable. Subsequently, a month of Jungkook’s self-inflicted isolationism was decidedly enough his friends. They marched up to his room and forced their way in. Jungkook was laid on the bed staring blankly up at the ceiling, unwashed blood-stained clothes strewn all over the floor.

His two best friends sat on either side of him on the bed.

“Come on man, you’ve got to get over this. She’s happy. Isn’t that a good thing?” Yugyeom reasoned with him to no avail, merely receiving a sharp scowl before Jungkook returned his gaze to the ceiling with his jaw clenched slightly.

“For fuck’s sake!” Jimin exploded, finally done with the younger’s behaviour, “We have a job to do and a reputation to uphold. Now snap out of it, she’s just a girl!”

“Don’t you fucking dare say that.” Jungkook spat at Jimin, fisting his hand into his shirt and pulling him closer. “Don’t talk about her as if she’s nothing. You’ve become good friends with her, she’s worth so much more and you know it.”

“Calm down…” Yugyeom placed a hand on Jungkooks’ shoulder which he shrugged off, but he released Jimin all the same. They sat in silence for a few moments before Yugyeom spoke once more. “We’ll talk to her at the club tonight, see if she’ll spend the weekend here. Would that help?”

“Yoongi’s tried to convince her to stay but he obviously hasn’t succeeded. What makes you think you’ll do any better?”

“Ye of little faith.” Jimin shakes his head with a mocking frown, “It’ll work. We’ll talk to the girls about it as well, see if they can do anything to help if we need to. Anything to get you back to your normal self...”

Jungkook ponders for a moment before nodding, somewhat reluctantly, in agreement.

When he saw her later that day at the tech rehearsal and pulled her away for five minutes during her break, it took all of his self-control not to just burst out and tell her everything. Instead, he focused on her smile and her laugh, the sight and sound of it soothing him and making their childhood together seem not so distant as it was. He could tell that she was still getting used to seeing him around so often after the 7 years of no contact whatsoever. He could see that was painful for her to see that the boy that she remembered had turned into a mafia machine, hard and ruthless. Jungkook desperately wanted her to see that he was still that child underneath, but he knew that it would take time. Time, he didn’t know if he would be able to give her.

The crowd cheered loudly as the girls finished their performance for the night, a special rendition of ‘Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend’ which the girls had been planning and choreographing to perfection for a fortnight. Dressed in their pink satin Marilyn Monroe inspired costumes, they sauntered off the stage and through the crowd to the bar where Yugyeom was waiting for them with their pre-ordered drinks.

“Spectacular as always ladies,” he sweet-talked making the girls chuckle and roll their eyes slightly at the flirtatious bartender. He smirked cheekily and winked at Y/N before tending to his other customers.

“I have to say, I was sceptical about the whole traditional burlesque, Marilyn style,” Jennie spoke to Y/N as the other three girls chattered away “but it was a brilliant idea, Y/N! And the audience seemed to love it as well. Keep coming up with ideas like that and we’re going to be legends.”

“We already are,” Y/N countered, and Jennie nodded, clinking her glass against Y/N’s approvingly. Lisa swung her arm around Y/N’s shoulder and gave her a kiss on the cheek, making her giggle.

“Guys we need a photo!” Rosé exclaimed happily and leaned over the bar to get her phone. They took multiple cute and silly photos alike, laughing at each other in the process. Once they were all satisfied with the number of photos, Rosé put her phone back in its place behind the bar and together they made their way into the centre of the dance floor.

The girls all laughed and partied for about an hour until they all felt relatively tired and in need of a drink, so all made their way back to the bar. They ordered multiple rounds of drinks until eventually they each left to attend to their escort duties for the night. Y/N sat on her own watching the crowd of people, men watched her but never dared to come too close in case the mysterious owner saw and had them kicked out for even so much as breathing on his treasure.

“Y/N can I talk to you?” Jimin sneakily came over when he saw that she was alone and whispered in her ear from behind, making her jump.

“Shit! Jimin you scared me!” She playfully hit his chest, her speech ever so slightly slurred and louder than usual, “What do you wanna talk about?”

“Let’s not talk here, it’s too loud and crowded.” He looped his arm around her waist as she stood up and guided her to the back of the club where the car was parked.

As soon as they got outside, Y/N - assuming in her slightly drunken state that this was what Jimin wanted to “talk” about – pushed him up against the back wall and placed her lips against his. In his shock, he didn’t push her away as quickly as he should’ve done. It was only when her lips moved to suck on his neck and her hands started trying to unbutton his shirt that he snapped back to reality.

“Y/- fuck – Y/N stop!” Jimin managed to splutter out and she immediately pulled back.

“Why did you ask me to stop?” Y/N questioned.

“For one, I’m not going to take advantage of you. Especially not when you’re drunk. And second, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” He answered calmly, though his cheeks were tinted pink. “I wanted to talk to you about your current living arrangements,”

“Oh? What about them, have the girls said something?” Y/N immediately became anxious. Both Yugyeom and Jimin had talked to the girls during their tech rehearsal that afternoon, explained the strange predicament to them. The four girls chuckled at their boss’ behaviour, having already picked up on his feeling towards Y/N - despite the fact he wouldn’t admit to it himself. They agreed that Y/N should stay at the mansion that weekend and smooth things over, also promising not to say anything to Y/N about it themselves.

“No, no, no, they’re all very happy with you staying with them. They care about you a lot.” He reassured, holding her hand, “But both Yoongi and Jungkook are…struggling, let’s just say.”

“They are? Why?”

“Honestly Y/N I’m not entirely certain, not that I don’t have my suspicions of course.” He sighs, “Y/N they’re going crazy without you there to sedate them, calm them down. Jungkook has become reckless when out on missions and then when he gets home he locks himself in his room. He hasn’t showered, his clothes haven’t been washed. Hell, he’s wearing one of Yugyeom’s old suits tonight! And Yoongi…” He trails off, unsure of how to word it properly.

“Yes, what about him?” Y/N pushed, already worried about her childhood friend and growing more anxious waiting to hear about her boss.

“Well, before he found you he was massively unpredictable and irritable. His past was eating him alive, it still is but he hides it well. He wouldn’t talk to anyone about his problems - aside from Namjoon, but he’d have to force it out of him and that wouldn’t come without consequences.” Jimin winced slightly at the thought but continued, “When you came around he became somewhat more level-headed and thoughtful, still kinda psychotic but that’s just part of being in a gang really...Now you’re not staying with us he’s become like his old self again. Not even Namjoon can snap him out of it. He tried and Yoongi almost snapped his neck.”

“Fucking hell…well, what can I do to stop them? What do they want from me?!” Y/N asked, her voice shaking slightly. Her head was getting cloudy and her breathing more ragged. She knew this sensation well - panic attack.

“Y/N breathe…please calm down…” Jimin held her hands tightly and guided her into reality again. “Y/N distract yourself, count the freckles on my face.”

“What, why?” Y/N said as her breathing got worse and tears spilt from her eyes.

“It’s called grounding, just try.” He coaxed and sure enough her eyes scanned his face, counting out-loud all the small dots on his face. Slowly she started to calm down and come to her senses.

“I-I’m sorry you h-had to see that…” Y/N managed to stutter out.

“No, don’t be.” He cupped her flushed cheeks gently and brushed away a few stray tears with his thumbs. “Why don’t you spend this weekend at the mansion, go there instead of the apartment tonight and I’ll take you back on Monday. It might put their minds at ease a little. Would that be okay?”

Y/N thought about it for a moment then nodded, “Yeah that’s okay. Not going to lie I have missed having my own room.”

Jimin chuckled slightly before asking carefully, not wanting her to freak out again, “Why did you leave anyway?”

“Convenience, I guess,” Y/N answered and played with her costume, “We spend so much time together rehearsing, it just felt natural to stay with them in case one of us has a choreography idea or something.” As she talked she realised she hadn’t given it any thought before and now she was, she grew confused as to how she suddenly just…left.

“Well, I guess that makes sense, and I assume you’re more comfortable talking to the girls than us,” He said, referring to the male gang members and Y/N snorted slightly.

“Don’t get me wrong, I do like talking to you guys, but it’s not the same.”

“Not even with Jungkook?”

“It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other, it’s like I’m getting to know him all over again.”

He sighed and nodded sympathetically.

“Thanks for the kiss by the way,” Jimin smirked to lighten the mood as a shameful blush rose on Y/N’s cheeks, “Don’t worry I won’t tell.”

“I am sorry about that, I don’t know what came over me…”

“Nah don’t be,” Jimin said and pulled her closer, “besides I kinda liked it.”

Her head snapped up.

“You did?”

“Yeah but don’t tell anyone, especially not Namjoon.” Jimin winked then laughed at Y/N’s shell-shocked face.

“You…and Nam…WHAT?” She exploded making Jimin laugh harder.

“Yes, me and Namjoon. We’ve been on and off for about a year now. We’re on a break at the moment but I have a feeling if he hears about this he’s going to be very jealous.” Jimin explained with a cheeky grin.

“So, are you gay?”

“No, I’m Bi.”

“So am I!” Y/N giggled excitedly, “Out and proud since I was 13!”

Jimin gaped at the confession then pulled her into a tight hug and spun her around, making her giggle.

“We need to go to pride together at some point.” He stated as he put her down. She nodded happily and they walked arm in arm back into the club.

The drive back to the mansion later that night, after picking up a few things she might need from the apartment, was comfortably familiar. Seeing the giant building, dimly lighted by the moon, used to be haunting to her but as they drove through the gates she smiled brightly. Trailing upstairs to her bedroom a strange sense of bliss washed over her; she couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face as she jumped onto the large bed face first and hugged the pillows, sighing in contentment. Eventually, she pulled herself off the bed and made her way to the bathroom to take off her makeup and have a quick shower. The eerie quietness of her bedroom used to disturb her but, after experiencing the chaos of an all-girl apartment, Y/N welcomed the peaceful silence.

After pulling her dressing gown on and drying her hair, she made her way down to the kitchen for a hot chocolate before bed. The sweet drink had always managed to lull Y/N into a deep and peaceful night’s sleep. She recalled the numerous nights that the sweet drink had calmed her nerves greatly during exam season and the Christmas Eve’s as a child where she curled up on the sofa, mug in hand, watching a stupid Christmas movie that made her dad groan. As she sat on one of the breakfast bar stools, legs propped up on another, she hummed at the delicious taste of the drink, knowing that it was well deserved.

“You’re back.”

A deep voice snapped her out of her dreamy state. She turned her head to see Yoongi looking at her dumbfounded in the doorway.

“Yes, I am.” She was in no mood to play around with him so gave him as short of an answer as she could, licking the excess foam off her top lip. He nodded curtly as he noticed the movement and looked at the drink encased in Y/N’s hands.

“Made yourself a late-night drink, have we?” He walked towards her and leaned against the counter where she sat.

“Mm’hm, hot chocolate.” She replied and raised her mug slightly. The warm, sweet scent wafted through the air and Yoongi breathed it in.

“I don’t think I’ve had a hot chocolate since I was 10.” Yoongi chuckled lightly, “I was so busy tonight I didn’t really have a chance to see you at the club. Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all, sir.”

“You don’t need to call me that right now, I’m off duty.” He gave her an uneasy looking smile that she supposed was meant to be soft and friendly. Giggling slightly at his attempt of a kind smile, Y/N swung her legs off the stool and allowed him to sit next to her. He sat down in the seat and watched her carefully, resting his head on his palm.

“So…how are you?” Y/N said after a few minutes of silence.

“Really? Small talk?” Yoongi questioned with a small smirk, the one he saved only for her.

“Humour me, it’s late and I’m tired.” She said with a small, tired smile.

“I’ve been better, but I’ve also been a lot worse.” He answered honestly, “How are you?”

“I’m okay, tired but strangely happy to be back for the weekend.” She replied, yawning slightly and closing her eyes. Consequentially, she didn’t see Yoongi’s smirk fall in disappointment.

“You’re only staying for the weekend?” He asked, trying to keep himself calm

“Yeah-” Y/N started before Yugyeom burst through the kitchen doors, sweaty and stressed – gun already clutched in a tight grasp.

“BOSS!”

“What?” Yoongi said bitterly at the rude intrusion and Y/N rolled her eyes at her boss’ behaviour, only wanting to finish her drink and go to bed. All thoughts of a peaceful night’s sleep, however, was ripped away as four horrifying words fell from Yugyeom’s mouth.

“The Scorpions got Jungkook.”

#blood and gasoline #bts mafia au #yoongi mafia au #jungkook mafia au #bts gang au #yoongi gang au #jungkook gang au #yoongi x reader #jungkook x reader #bts angst #yoongi angst #jungkook angst #mafia au #gang au #slow burn #own post #original content #3081 words

33 notes · View notes

a-l-ias · 6 years

Text

Friction

It is so freaking cold up here! As much as I love winter, this is a bit too much. So naturally, let’s put Hiccstrid in the same situation.

Astrid Hofferson was freezing.

Frigid.

Frozen.

Frosted over.

Turning into an ice-cube, for lack of a better term.

The heavy woolen furs she had cocooned herself in before falling asleep (or attempting to) did very little to shelter her skin from the sting of the arctic air, and even less to ward away the tiny, fluffy snowflakes just beginning to fall lightly from the star-less sky. She could no longer feel her fingers, or her toes, and she vividly pictured each digit slowly turning a brilliant blue beneath the covers. Her body had long since given up on shivering, for it seemed fruitless; her lips were chapped and blistering from the burning wind that rushed past and shook the branches of the empty trees; her eyes dry and aching from the bitter bite of the Archipelago's winter. She would have been fine she hadn’t neglected to pack warmer clothes for their impromptu expedition into the northern woods of the Piquolot Mountains. She would have been fine if the gusts hadn’t blown the campfire out. She would have been fine if she had decided to curl up with Stormfly and the other dragons in their messily adorable muddle of limbs and teeth. Of course, all her mistakes would have been easy to correct, but that involved getting up and out of the relative safety of her layers, and Astrid preferred to suffer only half of what the elements could dish out for the whole night, instead of the entirety of the weather’s wrath for a couple minutes.

However, as the night wore on, she started to regret her decision.

As soon as the snow had started, Astrid had glanced longingly over at the bundle of blankets a few feet away from her, knowing that he would provide more warmth than her layers could ever hope to (most likely from his blushing at the close proximity). Her friends, though, slept near, and if she and Hiccup wanted to keep their relationship on the down low, they couldn’t be discovered in such a compromising position by the other riders. She imagined waking up to the jeering sneer of Snotlout, the scandalized expression of Fishlegs, the utterly bewildered faces of the twins, and Heather’s smug “I told you so” grin. Not something she was too keen on.

Astrid rolled over on the hard forest floor, feeling a twig dig into her hip, and telling herself firmly that she didn’t care, because if she did, she’d have to reach outside the blankets to move it, and her hand most surely would not return. She wiggled her torso irritably in a vain attempt at shuffling it out of the way. Sighing, frustratedly beyond all else, she curled in on herself farther.

Astrid had been sick plenty of times—once with a horrible hacking cough and bloodied phlegm at age six that had the entire village worried she wouldn’t survive; once with a stomach bug that had her rejecting everything slammed down her throat; more recently, she came down with a bout of eel pox that had her drunkenly tottering around her house hopped up on pain herbs. She’d wondered if that was how it would end—if this soggy heap of sweat and pale, glistening skin was how she would be remembered. Her nights spent tossing and turning with aching limbs and a pounding skull, grimaces torn from her raw throat with every shift of her exhausted frame were anything short of torture. If asked, Astrid would have, hands down, replied that those short stints of malady were the worst days in all her nineteen years; the lingering stench of stale body and rotting barf and sour clothes haunted her every time she so much as sneezed. Right now, though, she would take those sleepless, boiling hot, crampy, achy nights over this sleepless, freezing cold, shivering, frore night any day.

Pursing her lips—which was painful and probably ripped the skin open in multiple places—she finally came to a conclusion: she didn’t give a damn what her friends thought. Better to endure the teasing and the invasions of privacy than the endless glacial winds. Resolutely gathering the blankets about her shoulders, Astrid stood up, stumbling a bit as feeling started to flow back into her feet with a barrage of pins and needles, and marched over to her sleeping boyfriend. Her teeth chattering, she knelt down next to him and carefully removed her pauldrons and arm guards, along with her skirt and (sadly) her boots, attempting to minimize the amount of metal she brought into the huddle.

As she pulled the top blanket back, he moaned in his sleep and shifted deeper into his bed roll, exposing his peaceful countenance. His lips were slightly parted; the worry lines in his forehead that had become a common occurrence during the day had faded. Astrid—as much as she hated to sound soft—found herself staring at him intensely when he slept, reveling in the fact that only she received the honor of seeing him in such a vulnerable position. With a slight smile on her face, Astrid crawled under the covers, tucking it around the both of them. Wiggling her way between his arms, weaving her frozen fingers into his shirt, and burying her face in his chest, she felt the heat of her breath radiate back. She heaved a contented sigh and burrowed further into his loose, sleepy embrace. It wasn’t until Astrid hooked a leg over his hip that Hiccup finally woke up.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice husky and laced with sleep.

“I was cold,” she answered concisely.

Hiccup let out a breathy chuckle, gracing her scalp with his warm exhale. He stretched his arms out behind her languorously, and settled his right hand on her thigh over his hip.

“Obviously.”

She felt his other hand wander its way into her braid, combing lightly through it until it found the band that tied the end off.

“Hiccup - “

“Shh,” he whispered. “You look so beautiful with it down, it’d be a wasted opportunity.”

Despite hating the feeling of her hair as it hung loose, Astrid did love the feeling of Hiccup’s fingers carding through the russet strands, so she stayed quiet.

“Besides,” he added, the low and quiet sound rumbling in his chest. “You’re cold, aren’t you? It’ll help.”

He tugged at the end and the braid quickly uncoiled. Hiccup looped his fingers in her hair, and ran his hand through the curls.

Astrid hummed into his neck.

Hiccup smiled into her forehead.

“You had a good idea,” he said finally, planting a kiss to her temple. “It’s a lot warmer now.”

“Took me forever to make up my mind. Glad I did though.”

“I was contemplating joining you before I fell asleep.”

“You should have. I was freezing my fingers off.”

He chuckled again. “I can tell. They’re like snowballs.”

Just out of playful spite, Astrid raised her numb palms to his face, cupping his cheeks.

“Geeze! You’ll give me hypothermia!” Regardless of his complaints, he didn’t move.

Astrid smiled with him, tilting her head up to look at him from beneath her eyelashes.

His eyes were half-lidded, and in the dim and moonless night, it was hard to tell what he was thinking.

Astrid scraped her fingertips against the day-old stubble adorning his jaw - an activity that had become a habit for her in their most intimate moments.

It was his turn to hum contentedly.

His hand in her hair stopped moving at the base of her head, and he gently pushed her forward—into a kiss.

It was slow and lazy - Astrid’s arms curled around his neck, and Hiccup’s equally cold fingers pushed her tunic up slightly to cradle her closer to his body. It was casual swipes to tongues, soft scrapes of teeth, and gentle caresses all intended to get the other as close as possible. They parted once for air before they were lip-locked again, taking their sweet time. Astrid’s hands and feet slowly regained warmth as Hiccup reached down to rub her toes, and untangled her fingers from his hair to press them under his shirt and on his chest, never once breaking away.

She could feel his heartbeat against his ribcage, a steady rhythm that was devoid of the frantic pace that had been commonplace during the nascent stages of their relationship. She mumbled incoherently at the feeling of his smooth skin and lean muscles beneath her palms.

Hiccup snickered into the kiss. “Miss me?”

She smacked his shoulder, but nonetheless tittered herself. It had been quite a while since things had progressed to a physical level between them. Between Viggo and Berk and the Dragon Eye, they hadn't really had the time for anything other than a swift peck. She honestly did miss the nights tangled together in his bed, cuddling close to seize the rapidly escaping warmth, or the mid-afternoon assignations on newly discovered islands, heat entirely dependent on their fervid movements and torturous friction. It wasn't a desperate need, though, to feel him pressed against her—and aspect Astrid cherished. They didn't need the physicality to verify their happiness. They were perfectly content with simply being in each other's presence, laughing at corny jokes, sharing secret smiles, and goofing off in ways only best friends could.

While most couples Astrid met relied on physical intimacy, Hiccup and she had progressed to a relationship involving emotional intimacy.

And she loved it.

Hiccup caught her wrist on its retreat, gently pinching it between long fingers. His lips parted in a sort of reverence that became habit even before they had started dating, as if she had fallen from heaven. She felt her cheeks warming, no doubt flushing ridiculously. Hiccup was probably beyond elated—he took so much pride in his ability to make her gush like a giggling pre-teen. Soft fingertips glided over her hand, hooking her digits over his, and bringing her knuckles to his lips.

“Stop it,” she chided, uncommitted.

“They’re still frigid,” he commented, eyes never leaving hers. “Is your other hand cold, too?” He didn't wait for an answer, simply grabbed her left hand and raised it to join the other. Evidently deciding they were colder than acceptable, he huffed a cloud of hot air over their entwined fingers.

A shuffle echoed from across the campsite, and both of them stiffened, trading momentary looks of identical panic. If one of their friends woke up and found Astrid’s place empty…

Footsteps padded across the stony dirt, petrified blades of grass crunching under heels that advanced towards the couple. Hiccup stifled a yelp, placed an anxious hand atop his girlfriend’s head and pushed her down, stuffing her face into his abdomen in an attempt to conceal the incriminating evidence of their relationship.

A stifled and indignant “what!” came from below the furs, and Astrid struggled, infuriated, against the offending movement. Her heartbeat sped up as she took a deep breath of the stuffy air filled with the musty odor of unopened closets, and she clawed at Hiccup’s wrist.

A curious, low warble interrupted her plight, and the pressure on the top of her head lessened considerably, allowing Astrid to resurface and roll over in their burrito. Toothless whined pitifully as he pawed desperately at Astrid’s leg, ears flattened against his inky scales and gums bared in an adorable pleading smile.

“Odin’s ghost, Hiccup. It’s just your dragon!” she snapped.

She could feel his embarrassment emanating from every pore. “Sorry,” he stuttered.

Astrid heaved an enormous sigh and gave Toothless a commiserating pat. She clicked her fingers by her feet and the dragon obediently followed the direction, slumping down with a muted thump on top of the extra blankets. Rolling over, she gave Hiccup a soft smack on the forehead.

“Owww,” he griped. “Why do you keep abusing me?”

Astrid ignored the question. “You’re a dork,” she scolded, settling back down in his arms.

“Yes,” he conceded. “But I’m your dork.”

Astrid laughed, a genuine show of mirth that had been absent from her life for a couple weeks now. “Not to mention cheesy. And cliché.”

He smiled again (Astrid noticed there seemed to be a lot of that going on), and smoothed his palm in circles over her back.

Astrid’s eyes started drifting closed, now droopy from the much needed heat and weighed down by the anchor of slumber. Her mind sank into the fog creeping through her senses and she let out a yawn fit for a giant.

“Remind me again,” she muttered around the yawn, “why you decided that searching for dragons in the middle of Vetr was a good idea?”

Hiccup leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on her shoulder. Her face smashed into his neck, but this time, she didn’t mind, grateful for the loving embrace.

“I don’t know. Remind me never to do it again, though.”

“How did the idea even surface though? Yesterday you were perfectly content with pounding out whatever inane project you have going on.” Her words were muffled from the fabric of his fur doublet. It took him a moment to decipher what she’d said.

He shrugged. “It really wasn’t my idea. Fishlegs suggested it.”

“Of course Fish suggested it,” Astrid grumbled. “Idiot.”

Hiccup scoffed softly. “You came, didn’t you?”

Astrid pulled back just a smidge, enough to look her boyfriend directly in the eyes. She pointed at herself forcefully. “Yeah, but I had an obligation to come.”

“What obligation was that?”

She raised a questioning eyebrow. “You, stupid.”

The smile that pressed against her skin was more effective than any fur cloak.

“I—oh,” he decided.

She wriggled farther away and studied his expression. His haphazard russet hair flopped in front of his eye, crinkled against the mound of wadded up blanket he’d fashioned as a pillow. A half smile danced across his lips slyly, and he brushed his knuckles against her cheek.

“You think I’m an idiot, too,” she accused, punctuating her point with a series of forceful jabs to his chest.

His smile slowly melted. “I—you—seriously, you decided to leave the safety of your heated hut back on Berk for a trip you’d heard about the day you were supposed to leave. That’s a bit of moron showing right there. You traded a fluffy piece of cushion perfection for a sad little pile of withering leaves. Hence, you are an idiot.”

Astrid blinked, and then frowned doubtfully. “By that definition, you’re also an idiot.”

“But that was established a while ago.” Hiccup grinned, the gap between his teeth displayed adorably.

She snuggled closer again, rubbing her thigh over his hip for added heat.

Friction. Wonderful friction. The force that warmed her heart and stoked her passion and gave her a purpose. This was how love was supposed to feel: trapped in the supreme tug of someone else’s gravity, constantly hurtling towards each other, colliding, crashing. They were mutual. Partners. Equals. And their monumental ardor fueled their actions. Their friction gave them life.

Astrid pressed a gentle kiss to Hiccup’s neck, noticing that his breathing had become shallow and steady in their comfortable silence.

“Love you,” she hummed.

Hiccup exhaled a soft murmur in a sleepy response.

It wasn’t long before she joined him in the haven of dreamland.

#hiccstrid #rtte #pure fluff #I'm a sucker for cuddling #cuddling

271 notes · View notes